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In Search of a Home. 


BY 


/ 

BELLE V, CHISHOLM. 


r 



PHILADELPHIA : 

PRESBYTERIAN PUBLISHING COMPANY,. 
1510 Chestnut Street. 

1890. 





COPYRIGHTED 1890. 
PRESBYTERIAN PUBLISHING COMPANY. 





4 


V 













CONTENTS . 


PAGE. 

CHAPTER I. 

Out in the World. . . . .5 


CHAPTER 

II. 



A Trip and What Came of It. . 

. 

. 

. 11 

CHAPTER 

III. 



The Tempter and the Tempted. . 

. 

. . 

. 17 

CHAPTER 

IV. 



< School Life. 

. 

. 

. 23 

CHAPTER 

V. 



The Castaway. 

. 


. 29 

CHAPTER 

VI. 



Misjudged. 

. 

. 

. 36 

CHAPTER 

VII. 



Seeking an Explanation. 

. 

. 

. 42 

CHAPTER 

VIII. 



Leaving Home. 

. 

. 

. 48 

CHAPTER 

IX. 



In Search of Work . 

. 

. 

. 56 

CHAPTER 

X. 



An Old Acquaintance. 

. 

. 

. 62 

CHAPTER 

XL 



Promoted. 

. 


. 72 


4 


CONTENTS . 


CHAPTER XII. 

Dick 9 Journey .... 


PAGE. 

. 77 

CHAPTER XIII. 

An Incident and Its Sequel 

• 


85 

CHAPTER XIV ; 
Accidmt. .... 

• 

. 

91 

CHAPTER XV. 

A Model Home. .... 

• 


98 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A Surprise. .... 

• 

# 

102 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Lost Found. 



109 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

A Strange Meeting 

• 


114 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Old Story Retold. 

• 


121 

CHAPTER XX 

Dick's Story. .... 

• 


ISO 

CHAPTER X XI. 

The Missing Letter. 



189 

CHAPTER XXII. 

A Visit to the Y. MC.A. 

• 


147 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

New Friends and Old. 

• 


155 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The Tangles Straightened Out. 

• 


162 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Christine's New Experience. 

• 


169 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Shadows and Sunshine. 

• 


176 


•xIN SEARCH OF A HOME*- 


CHAPTER I. 

OUT IN THE WORLD. 

'”5RCE blizzard from the north had swept 
cross the open prairie, causing the frail 



structure of frame to rock on the four 


corner-stones that served for its foundation. The 
windows trembled in their casements and the door 
creaked upon its rusty hinges, while currents of 
cold air seemed to enter at every crevice between 
the poorly joined weather-boards. 

Inside, upon a bed in one corner of the scantily fur- 
nished apartment, lay a wasted female form. Though 
emaciated by disease, the face of the woman bore 
traces of refinement and beauty. She had fallen into 
a troubled sleep, but the quick, labored breathing and 
the death-like hue upon her pallid countenance would 
have at once told an experienced eye that she was 
dying. 

By her bed-side, his hand upon her burning brow, 
knelt a bright, dark-eyed, handsome boy of— perhaps 
about fifteen years. 


6 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


‘'Can I do any thing for your comfort, mother 
dear?” he asked tenderly, rising to his feet as the 
figure on the bed began to show signs of restlessness. 
“You are shivering,” he added, as he commenced to 
pile more clothes upon her. 

Motioning him to stop, she whispered, “ There is no 
use, my child. I will never be warm again.” 

“ It is so very cold, mother, and the fire scarcely 
reaches you here. I must put on more wood,” he 
said, turning toward the stove. 

She put out her hand to detain him, saying, with 
an effort, “ Neither clothes nor fire will warm me now’, 
for the chill of death is upon me. ” 

“ O, mother, you are not dying, surely ! ” he cried 
in agony. “ I will bring the doctor, and he can give 
you relief.” 

“ No, my poor child, a physician can be of no avail 
to me now. I am almost home. ” 

“ I will run across the meadow for Mrs. Morgan, ” 
the boy said, snatching his hat from the table at the 
foot of the bed. 

“ I would rather be by ourselves, Donald. I have 
something to say to you — something that none save 
your ears must hear. I should have told you before. 
I am afraid that I have put it off too long, for the 
icy finger of death is upon me now. You must be 
brave, for the responsibilities of life will rest heavily 
upon your young shoulders w hen I am gone. Do you 
think that you are able to meet the trials of the next 
hour?” 

“You can trust me with any message you have to 
deliver, mother,” said Donald, straightening himself 
up, while a new light shone in his tearful eyes. 


OUT IN IRE WORLD . 


7 


“ Give me a teaspoonful of that medicine,” ’she said, 
pointing to a vial on the table. 11 1 feel my strength 
going, and I must live a little longer.” 

After swallowing the stimulant she closed her eyes 
and folded her hands reverently over her breast for a 
few moments. Donald knew from her attitude that 
she was engaged in prayer — prayer for a few minutes 
more of time to perform some work which she con- 
sidered a duty. An unutterable longing came into 
her dark eyes, as she bent them lovingly upon the 
noble boy at her side. Taking his warm hands into 
her own, that were already stiffening for the grave, 
she said in a low, but very distinct, voice : 

“ First of all, you must promise me never to drink 
one drop of intoxicating liquor. Rum ruined your 
poor father and broke your mother's heart. Can you 
give me this promise?” 

Mother, before God, and with your dying eyes 
resting upon me, I vow never to touch, taste or 
handle a drop of any kind of intoxicants.” 

“Amen! so help you God!” came in solemn tones 
from the dying woman's cold lips. “ You were so 
young when that terrible accident happened your 
father that I did not tell you its cause. I waded 
through snow-drifts in search of him many hours 
before I came upon him nearly frozen to death. 
Aftei many long months of suffering he came slowly 
back to life, but he never enjoyed a day's perfect 
health afterwards. You know how happy and con- 
tented he was during his later years, but you never 
understood through what fiery trials he had passed 
during the refining process. I believe he was all the 
better for having been led through the deep waters, 
but it is to save you from unseen and unknown dan- 


IN SEARCH OF A H03IE. 


8 

gers that I now warn you to shun the cup that spoiled 
his life and sent him through the world a prema- 
turely broken-down man. 

“ Poor man ! The temptations that had been spread 
before him in his childhood and youth proved too 
much for his weakness, and you, my son, have even 
more with which to contend than had your father, 
because you have an inherited taste for spirits — the 
veriest curse a man could bequeath to his children. 

“ When I am dead, write to your Uncle James. 
Perhaps out of his abundance he may provide for 
the child of his only sister. When your father died 
Aunt Penelope wrote to me offering you a home, but 
I could not part with you.” Here a violent fit of 
coughing interrupted her, and when she rallied some- 
what she made an effort to finish the sentence, but 
no sound came from the pale lips that were trying 
to frame the words struggling for utterance. For 
-some minutes she lay quiet, her eyes half closed, 
and then, as if gathering her strength for a desperate 
effort, she gasped : — “ Aunt Penelope wanted Donald 
to • live with her, but — ” Again the troublesome 
cough returned, and Donald, thinking that she was 
fretting about what should become of him, whispered 
hoarsely: 

“Do not worry, mother* I will miss you sadly, 
but I will try to be brave and live a life that will 
not dishonor your memory. You have been the very 
best mother a boy ever had.” 

The mother smiled faintly, but did not seem satis- 
fied, and tried hard to make herself understood, but 
the words died on her lips, and after a little she 
ceased struggling and closed her eyes again. Soon 
.there was a slight trembling of the muscles of the 


9 



then the soul of Mrs. Bergh was with God, and 
poor Donald was indeed an orphan. At last the 
broken-hearted boy drew the sheet over the still 
face, and went out in the storm in search of help* 

The simple arrangements were made for the funeral, 
and on the morrow the friendless boy stood alone by 
the open grave and listened to the clods as they fell 
upon the coffin of his precious mother. 

Mrs. Bergh’s gentle ways had endeared her to the 
whole neighborhood, and right generously did the 
humble homes open to receive her orphan boy. 

The dead woman’s small possessions were sold to 
cover the funeral expenses, and while he was waiting 
for an answer from Uncle James, Donald assisted Tim 
Smithers, the jolly cobbler, in keeping the school-boys’ 
boots and shoes soled and patched according to the 
most improved fashion. 

The long, cold winter passed away without bringing 
the orphan boy the letter he longed to receive. Some- 
times he was tempted to write again, but he was proud 
as well as poor, and he could not humble himself to 
beg favors of one who possibly took this very method 
of ignoring his existence. 

One chilly day in early April, after he had given 
up ever hearing from his relatives, a letter from the 
East, addressed to Donald Bergh, created quite a com- 
motion in the little hamlet. It was not from Uncle 
James, however, Donald found when he tore it open, 
but the signature of Aunt .Penelope reminded him 
painfully of the sad scene that had taken place on 
the evening his mother had died. This is what he 
read when at last he could see through his tears: 



10 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


Egbert, Fa., April 4- 

My Dear Nephew . 

Your Uncle James in trying to shirk responsibility has 
had the audacity to send your letter concerning your 
mother's death to me, with the instruction that it is my 
duty to look after you. Once, for your father’s sake, I 
offered to take you, but yoar mother would not listen to 
my proposal, and I s^nt her word then that I would wash 
my hands of all responsibility in the case forever. But as 
your Uncle James acts so unnaturally I suppose some of 
your connections will be obliged to keep you out of the 
almshouse. As he stated in his letter, I am the only rela- 
tive on your father’s side, and except himself your mother’s 
kin-folks are all as poor as church mice. I have sent money 
to procure you a ticket to Dr. Norse, and will expect you in 
due course of time. But mind — there is one thing which 
I wish to impress particularly on your mind — I am not going 
to keep you up in idleness. Bemember, you will have no 
easy place to fill, for I give you fair warning that I have 
no intention of making a fine gentleman of you. 

Your Grand-aunt, Penelope Garth. 

Donald's proud heart rebelled against accepting 
this ungracious invitation, but as it was all that 
offered at the time, he determined to make it a step- 
ping-place to something better. 



CHAPTER II. 


A TRIP AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 


r HE trip was tedious, owing to the many 
washouts caused by the heavy spring rains, 
but Donald was accustomed to hardships and 
bore the fatigue uncomplainingly. 

When the train stopped at Egbert it was late in 
the afternoon, and the constant patter of rain made 
the little dingy station look even more dreary than 
usual. He was the only passenger who left the train. 
The station-master had bustled out to attend to the 
mail, and two or three loungers, who occupied a 
greasy bench by the door, looked lazily up Sit the 
newcomer. Donald inquired of them tbe distance 
and direction to his aunt’s. 


“ Bless me, lad! you’ve got off a station too soon. 
This is only Egbert Crossing, and it is a good mile 
from the town. You see if you had kept your seat it 
would have saved you a long walk in the rain and 
slush,” said the good-natured agent. “ If the old lady 
knew of the mistake she might send her man down 
with a beast to carry you up.” 

“ But she don’t know, and it is not probable that 
she would put herself to that trouble if she did,” said 
Donald. “ I must foot the balance of the road, and 
the sooner I get at it, the sooner it will be over.” 

“ How lucky you are, boy! Here comes Park 


11 


12 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


M’Cabe with his wagon, and you can ride home 
w T ith him just as well as not / 7 

The man left bis work, and hurrying to the rear 
end of the platform hollowed to his neighbor, “ Can 
you take a youngster up to Pine Knolb, Mr. M’Cabe? 7 
“That I can, and mighty glad o 7 the chance. 
Bring him along, Billy.” 

“Step lively now; for M’Cabe is a good enough 
sort of a fellow if you keep on tV e right side of him, 
but he is as tart as a crab-apple if you don 7 t come up 
to time , 77 said the man, addressing Donald. 

“And so you are Norman Bergh’s kid, eh? You 
have your father’s eyes sure and sartin,” began 
M'Cabe, as soon as he was seated. “Don’t I re- 
member young Mr. Bergh? He was as gay as a 
lark, and the old woman sot great store by him; 
but when he ran away and married pretty Mary 
Lee, she shut the door in his face, and so fur as I 
know on’t she never set eyes on him agin. She had 
nothing in the world against the dark-eyed music- 
teacher ’cept she was poor and worked for her livin’. 
You ’low to live with the old woman?” 

“ F or a short time at least,” replied Donald. 

“Well, I hope the old vixen will try to make you 
comfortable, but T fear she won’t. Fact is, she would 
quarrel with herself if she had nobody else to scold. 
But scoldin’ never breaks no bones, and mayhaps, for 
the young master’s sake, she’ll be kinder tender with 
you. People did say she felt orful when Norman 
died, but no mure did she let on, because she Lad said 
hard things about him. You see, he was only her 
nephew, but she had no children of her own and 
took him when her sister-in-law died, and alius ’lowed 
to make him her heir until he left her for sweet Polly 
Lee.” 


A TRIP AND WHAT GAME OF IT. 13 

Donald felt the indignant blood dyeing his cheeks 
when the man referred to his sainted mother, and 
even before he reached his aunt’s stately residence 
he felt impelled to fly away, anywhere, except to 
the house of the woman who had done his precious 
mother such gross injustice. It was growing dusk 
when M’Cabe’s heavy wagon lumbered in sight of 
the cold, inhospitable-looking brick dwelling that he 
pointed out as Aunt Penelope Garth’s. 

After Donald had his hand on the old-fashioned 
brass knocker his courage forsook him, and had it 
not been that M’Cabe was too far gone, he would 
have preferred begging a night’s lodging from him 
to venturing within the dreary abode. 

The smiling countenance of old Uncle Abram, who 
opened the door, was a welcome in itself, but the tall, 
angular figure that arose when the old servant an- 
nounced, “Here’s Massa Norman’s boy, missis,” was 
any thing but reassuring. 

“Well!” she ejaculated sharply. 

“ Rode all the w r ay from de station in Park M’Cabe’s 
great, heavy wagon,” continued the old man. 

“The distance is not so great but that he might 
have walked,” snapped the woman, impatiently. 

“ I made a mistake and got off at the Crossing, a 
mile below,” explained Donald meekly. 

“Humph! You are a bright boy indeed. You 
would have been served right if you had been obliged 
to foot every step of the v/ay. What kept you two 
whole extra days on the road anyhow?” 

“ The heavy rains had washed away several bridges 
and we were compelled to' wait until they could be 
repaired,” Donald answered quietly. 

“Your name is Donald, I guess,” said Aunt Pen, 


u 


Ii y SEARCH OF A HOME. 


adjusting her gold-bowed spectacles so as to take a 
closer look at the bow “Such a heathenish name! 
Why were you not called Tom, Joe, or Bill instead ?” 

After scrutinizing him closely for a short time, the 
old woman shook her head, saying: 

“You have your father’s eyes and hair, but the 
plebeian face of the Lees is your legacy as well. 
But why don’t you sit dow T n? You are surely tired 
after your long journey.” 

Though she did not change her tone, her words 
were kinder, and Donald slipped into the chair she 
had pointed out to him, glad that the dreaded meet- 
ing was over. 

“ Bring him a glass of wine, Abram, and tell 
Chrissy to hurry up the supper, for I know from 
the boy’s looks that he is half-famished.” 

The old lady gave her guest no chance to counter- 
mand her order, but a few minutes later when Abram 
appeared with a tiny glass filled with sparkling wine, 
he had the courage to say, “No, I thank you. I 
never drink wine.” 

“Hut! down with it, lad. It will do you a world 
of good,” exclaimed Aunt Pen, testily. 

“ I do not care for it, Aunt. I hope you will 
excuse me,” the boy returned, as a vivid picture of 
his last interview with his mother passed before his 
mind’s eye. 

“ That is some of your mother’s new-fangled ideas. 
What need I care if you choose Jo make a simpleton 
of yourself. Drink it or not as you like, but if you 
chance to fall sick because you refused my advice 
don’t expect me to take care of you.” 

“This is your Cousin Norman’s boy, Dick,” she 
explained to a handsome, well-dressed youth who 
came in in a careless way, as if very much at home. 


A TRIP AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 


15 


“ Ah, indeed! I am glad to meet him, I am sure,” 
Dick answered cheerily, as he lazily crossed the room 
and held out his soft, white hand. 

“ I hope you will be good friends,” continued Aunt 
Pen, “though 111 take this opportunity to warn 
Donald that he is not to fall into your indolent 
habits,” addressing Dick. 

“ One gentleman in a family is enough, you think,” 
laughed Dick, good-naturedly. 

“ Just one too much, and I will not allow your 
cousin to follow your example,” answered the old 
lady. Then turning to Donald she said, “You will 
find, sir, that I have no intention of pampering you 
up. If you have come expecting a soft, easy place 
you will find yourself mistaken.” 

“I expect nothing but what I honestly earn,” 
Donald replied, drawing himself up proudly. 

“ Y ou’ve got the Bergh pride, if you have not their 
money,” Aunt Pen returned, sharply, although in her 
heart she really admired the little flush of indignation 
that showed his kinship. 

At the tea-table a little dark-eyed, gypsy-looking 
girl was introduced to him as Dick’s sister. He 
afterwards found out that she had another name — 
Christine — and that she possessed an individuality 
altogether her own. 

Dick and Christine Jewell were the orphan children 
of Aunt Pen’s only sister, and since their mother’s 
death had been inmates of her house. For the girl 
she had never shown the weakness of affection, but if 
there was a soft place in her heart it belonged wholly 
to graceless, easy-going Dick, who, with all his faults, 
generally managed to keep on the good side of 
his irate kinswoman. Notwithstanding her natural 


16 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


cruelty, no human being had ever come so near the 
old woman’s heart as this nephew. Indeed, she loved 
him as well as her selfish nature would allow her to 
care for any one. 




] 



9 


( 




CHAPTER III. 

THE TEMPTER AND THE TEMPTED. 

"'T PEN was an old-time aristocrat, and in 



spite of modern invasions on the temperance 


question insisted in offering her guests the 


very best wine her cellar afforded. More than any 
thing else this practice annoyed Donald. Though 
the tiny glass that day after day stood by his plate 
was always carried away untouched, the temptation 
to taste its contents had to be overcome every time 
he took his seat at the table. He noticed that both 
Dick and Christine sipped the sparkling wine, and 
seemed to enjoy it, and more than once, after Dick 
had helped himself to a second glass, he fancied that 
the poor fellow had taken more than he was able to 
bear. Once he ventured to expostulate with him, 
but his Aunt silenced him with: 

“ Don’t be a fool, Donald. If you see proper you 
are at liberty to let it alone, but Dick shall have all 
the wine he wants. He is not strong, and needs a 
tonic to build him up.” 

“ He looks delicate, indeed,” sneered Christine, after 
giving her brother a keen glance. 

“ Attend to your own affairs, miss,” and then 
turning to Dick, the old woman added, “ Just help 
yourself to another glass if you’re amind to drink it.” 

The reckless fellow did not wait for another invita- 


17 


18 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


tion. Raising the third glass to his lips, he said in 
an unnatural voice, “ Here’s to your health, Aunt 
Pen.” 

“ What if he should learn to like it too well, 
Aunt?” asked Donald, frightened at the strange look 
in his Cousin’s eye. 

“ Don’t insult me in my own house, boy. Dick a 
drunkard, indeed, ana he a Bergh — your own father’s 
Cousin! How dare you insinuate such a thing?” 

“ I would not trust myself, Aunt,” Donald replied, 
huskily. 

“You would not, eh? That’s the Lee blood in 
your veins asserting its weakness. No Bergh would 
be guilty of speaking such treacherous words. I am 
ashamed of you, Donald, poor, wretched, whining 
coward ! ” 

The boy’s face flushed angrily at the unkind thrust, 
and he was on the point of asking her whose blood 
flowed in his father’s veins, but respect for the dead 
sealed his lips. He wondered if she were really igno- 
rant concerning his. poor father’s habits of life, and 
then for the hundredth time he made an effort to 
fathom the secret in regard to Aunt Pen which his 
mother had carried to the grave with her. Did she 
really wish him to seek a home with this hard-hearted 
woman, or was she trying to warn him against coming 
under her influence? Had she a knowledge of the 
temptations to which he would be exposed in this 
old ancestral home? She had expressed grave fears 
concerning the danger into which his inherited taste 
might lead him. Had his father labored under the 
same curse that overshadowed him, or had his misfor- 
tune been forced up^n him, as a similar fate was now 
being wrought out by poor, handsome, easy-going 


TEE TEMPTER AND TEE TEMPTED. 19 

Dick? He was not satisfied with Aunt Pen’s views 
on the temperance question, but as he had no power 
to change her ideas of the fitness of things, he deter- 
mined to dismiss the subject from his mind, and try 
to do his best while in her service. Perhaps, after 
all, there was no danger; at least not for Dick. 

The next day at dinner Christine sent her glass 
away as it had come — a circumstance that attracted 
Aunt Pen’s notice at once. 

“ Are you sick, Chrissy, that you do not drink your 
wine?” she asked, a little anxiously. 

“ No, ma’am, I am well enough, but I don’t intend 
to drink any more of that stuff, and I don’t want you 
to offer it to me again,” replied the girl, sullenly. 

“ That comes of listening to bits of boys who think 
they are wiser than their elders. Let me hear no 
more of such nonsense,” retorted Aunt Pen, sharply. 

“It is all the same to me, Aunt, but I mean just 
what I say. I am done with wine forever.” 

“Christine Jewell! have you really taken leave of 
your senses altogether?” 

“No, Aunt, I have just found them, and I mean 
to follow my own judgment hereafter — I mean about 
tippling. You see I didn’t know how fond I was of 
wine until Cousin Donald opened my eyes.” 

“ Made a simpleton of you, more truthfully,” 
returned the old lady, wrathfully. “ I wonder who 
will suffer from your mature decision? I am sure 
it will not be the wine-cellar.” 

“Never mind, Aunt! that makes another off the 
champagne list. I will make up for all deficiencies 
in that line. You see I am a boy after your own 
heart ” drawled Dick, good-naturedly. 

“Yes, yes! after my o*n heart when there’s eating 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


20 

or drinking going on. You're better at emptying 
the decanter than is good for either you or the 
wine,’' returned Aunt Pen, with a playful wave of 
her hand. 

Christine frowned. Yesterday’s little episode had 
opened her eyes to Dick’s danger, and it annoyed her 
to hear Aunt Pen joke on such a serious subject. 

“ Don’t look so glum, sister mine,” said Dick, just 
in a humor for teasing. “You and Donald have 
both turned reprobate, and the dignity of the house 
all rests upon my shoulders. If it were n'ot for Aunt 
Pen and myself, I do not know what would become 
of the ancient glory of the Berghs.” 

“Ancient fiddlesticks,” snapped Christine. “.The 
glory of the Berghs is a thing of the past. The 
present morals of the tribe need looking after much 
worse. If you would turn a little of your surplus 
energy in that direction it might be well expended.” 

“ That’s so, Gypsy, but you see I am not one of 
the canting kind, and will be obliged to delegate that 
interesting field to some better hypocrite than I ever 
expect to be. Here’s Donald, for instance. He’s cut 
out for a parson, and may as well begin work to-day 
as in a year or two from the present date. What do 
you have to say on the subject, Dominie?” slapping 
Donald familiarly on the back. 

“ I am more concerned about that piece of fence I 
am building than any thing else, just now,” replied 
Donald. 

“How lofty you soar!” exclaimed Dick, in a 
mocking tone. “The smell of the mechanic’s dust 
is still upon your clothes.” 

Donald winced, but made no reply. More than 
once had Dick sneered at the humble life from which 


THE TEMPTER AND THE TEMPTED. 21 

he had been taken, and Donald was proud as well as 
poor. He was anxious to obtain an education— all 
his life he had looked forward to the time when he 
should be able to enter college, but just at present his 
anticipations of speedy advancement seemed any thing 
but flattering. The spring and summer passed away 
without bringing any change in his monotonous life. 
He was becoming thoroughly discouraged when some- 
thing did really happen — something that surprised 
everybody as well as himself. The surprise came 
to him on a bright November day, just one week 
befbre Thanksgiving, and this is how it came. He 
was carrying the last basket of rosy-cheeked apples 
into the cellar when the lank, ungainly form of Aunt 
Pen appeared at the top of the stairs, and a voice 
that sounded strangely kind said: — “Well! that job 
is over at last, and I must say that I never had my 
apples put away in a more satisfactory way in my life.” 

It was the first time that she had ever spoken to 
the boy in that tone, and the appreciative words 
caused a glow of pleasure to tinge his cheeks, and 
the tears of gladness in his eyes made him consume 
more time than was necessary to arrange the lids 
of the bios so as to admit the proper amount of 
air. He made no reply, for he did not know but 
that an answer might provoke a sharp retort, for 
no one knew what to expect from Aunt Pen’s quick, 
unruly tongue; besides he was afraid that the quiver 
in his voice might betray his feelings, and if there 
was any thing that this old Aunt hated worse than 
another, it was the weakness of having feelings. 

As he turned to leave the cellar she began again : 
“Now spry around briskly and get tbe work out of 
the way, so you can start to the Academy when the 


22 


IX SEARCH OF A H03IE. 


winter term begins. And when you are in school 
improve your time well, for a great boy of your 
age cannot be spared from the farm many months 
in the year. Let me see — you are almost sixteen, 
are you not?” 

“ Sixteen next August,” Donald answered respect- 
fully. 

“ Dick has been in the Academy for several years, 
but he does not take to learning like some boys I 
know. I cannot afford to keep you both in school 
for any length of time, and you must try to do better 
work than he can show. Don’t forget what I have 
been saying, and try to keep up with the best of the 
boys in your studies.” 

“If I do not help myself I deserve to fail,” Donald 
replied, quickly. 

“ It is well that you have sense to see that,” was 
Aunt Pen’s answer. “ Of course, I am not bound to 
educate you, and I am of the opinion that a good 
trade would be the most suitable thing for a boy in 
your circumstances.” 

Donald winced, but he made no reply, and as soon 
as his Aunt returned to her work, he hurried away to 
assist Abram in gathering the pumpkins into the 
barn. The memory of his Aunt’s kind words enabled 
him to do double work that afternoon, and for several 
days following he bore her unreasonableness with 
more patience than he had ever exhibited before. 


CHAPTER IV. 

SCHOOL LIFE . 


weeks later lie was introduced by Dick 



to the Academy boys, and much to that young 


gentleman’s surprise was assigned to classes 


of a much higher grade than the ones to which he 
belonged. 

The school was in a flourishing condition, and 
many boys and young men from quite a distance 
were inmates of the boarding hall. Among them 
were sons of ministers, lawyers, doctors and states- 
men, and some of the students from the more humble 
walks of life insisted that the Principal, Dr. Armitage, 
had two sets of rules for the two grades of students. 
Of course, they knew that this was not literally true, 
but I am afraid the good old Doctor did occasionally 
shut his eyes to the faults of some of his favorites; 
for, like other people, he was human, and a little bit 
disposed to think of his own interests first. He did 
not mean to be unjust, but the boys under his care 
thought far more about how he acted than how he 
meant. 

Donald was not long in discovering that the small 
amount which Aunt Pen had set apart for his expenses 
was insufficient for the many calls made upon it. 
Determined to help himSelf instead of appealing to 
her, he rented and fitted up a little shop, in which he 


28 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


proposed to augment his slender resources by cobbling 
the boots and shoes of the students who felt disposed 
to patronize him. While living with Mr. Smithers, 
who was a first-class shoemaker, he had learned to 
do some very nice cobbling, an industry that now 
promised to bring him a very fair return. One 
morning, just as he was coming out of chapel, his 
attention was directed to the leaky condition of little 
Fred Norton’s shoes. Some of the younger boys had 
been teasing him about the “ outlook of his toes,'’ and 
the small chap was crying over his misfortune. 

“ Come with me, and I will fix them,” said Donald, 
glancing down at the worn shoes. Fred followed him 
to his little den, and while the young cobbler worked, 
the boy watched his movements with evident admir- 
ation. 

“How much must I pay you?” asked Fred when 
the shoes, neatly patched, 'were handed to him. 

“Nothing at all,” was the answer. “At least no 
money, but if any of the boys ask you who mended 
them tell them that it was Donald Bergh. Go, now I 
that is all the pay I v T ant.” 

Fred was very saucy of his nicely mended shoes, 
and his advertisement brought Donald all the work 
he had time to do. Even, the fastidious Latin Pro- 
fessor, Mr. Ried, came to him for a neat job, which 
was performed to his entire satisfaction. 

Although half supporting himself, Donald kept up 
with his classes and won golden opinions from both 
professors and students. Though some of the upstarts 
made sport of him, and dubbed him ‘Donald, the 
cobbler,” he was highly esteemed by rich and poor, 
and was as popular on the playground as in the 
recitation-room. 


SCHOOL LIFE. S5 

Among the students from a distance was/Gerald 
Eadie, son of United States Senator Eadie, from 
Illinois. The bey’s father and Dr. Armitage had 
been class-mates at Yale many years before, and for 
the young man the old Doctor had a very strong 
attachment. So apparent was his preference that it 
came to be a subject of comment by the students. 
Gerald was rather a bright, attractive youth, and 
had he not been pampered by his indulgent parents, 
he would, undoubtedly, have made his mark in the 
woild, but with plenty of money at his command, 
and with only an ordinary amount of ambition to 
urge him on, he gave but poor promise of ever 
filling the place of honor occijpied by his distin- 
guished father. 

One evening towards the latter part of March, 
while Donald was employed in repairing a pair of 
boots belonging to one of the country fellows, Gerald 
came into his shop, and holding out a pattern cut 
from paste-board, asked : 

Can you cut me a pair of leather goggles some- 
thing after the fashion of this?” 

“ I ^ink I can,” replied Donald, taking the pattern 
from his hand and fitting it on a long strip of blue 
leather. With a few swift strokes of a sharp knife 
the job was finished and passed back for inspection. 

“How much is it worth?” asked Eadie, drawing 
his purse from his pocket. 

“ Nothing 1 ” was the answer. “ I’ll not charge you 
for such a trifle.” 

“ Well, I am sure I am very grateful for the favor, 
and I’ll remember this the next time my shoes need a 
stitch,” said Gerald, as he turned to go. 


m SEARCH OF A HOME . 


“All right,” responded Donald cheerily, as the 
door closed after his visitor. 

The next moment the door was pushed open again, 
and Gerald looked in to say, “Don’t mention this, 
please. Gf course, it does not amount to much, but 
I would just as soon the boys would not find it out.” 

“ Trust to me to keep my mouth shut when I don’t 
want to open it,” laughed Donald, as he drew the 
long wax-end through thp stiff leather he was sewing. 

“You are the fellow for me. I knew you could be 
trusted or I would not have come to you for help,” 
holding up the goggles. 

Donald wondered what great secret could be con- 
nected with the blue leather spectacles, but he was too 
busy to puzzle his brain over such a foolish affair, 
and before he met Gerald again he had forgotten all 
about the little episode. 

A few mornings later when Billy Graham, the 
janitor, went into the chapel to ring the bell for 
prayers a loud “Bah” from a savage-looking sheep, 
on the rostrum, greeted him. The horned animal 
sported a new beaver, a swallow-tailed coat, and 
wore a fine “dickey” of immaculate whiteness, while 
.astride his broad nose, in close proximity to the 
stylish hat, rested the identical blue leather goggles 
that had taken shape in the cobbler’s den a week 
previously. 

“What has them rogues been up to next?” crkd 
Billy, holding up his hands in astonishment. “If 
they hain’t got fool in the head my name ain’t 
Billy Graham.” Then, as if struck with a new 
idea, he added, “ I’ll declare to goodness if this 
h^re isn’t fool’s day. I had forgotten that old 
March marched out last night at midnight.” By 


SCHOOL LIFE . 


the time he had finished his soliloquy the students 
came pouring into the chapel, and before their mer- 
riment had subsided Dr. Armitage’s regular tread 
announced his approach. 

“What is the cause of ail this confusion?” he 
demanded, but catching sight of the ridiculous beast 
on the platform, he strode forward in undignified 
haste, and began punching the innocent cause of 
the trouble with his cane. 

“Bah, bah!” bawled the sheep, shaking his head 
in a threatening manner. 

“Take the creature out — take him out, I say,” 
screamed the angry man. “ Who of you dared offer 
me this insult? Who, I ask? I am waiting.” But 
as he received no answer, he concluded to wait no 
longer, and turned on poor Billy with, “You are 
as big a fool as the boys, Graham. Why don’t 
jou take the animal out and stop this racket?” 

“ Easier said than done,” retorted Billy. “ Suppose 
you try your hand at that plaguey knot, Doctor.” 

The Principal went to work as though he could 
annihilate Billy, the sheep and the rope by a single 
jerk, but he was no more successful than the grinning 
janitor, and several of the students, taking pity on 
the irritated Doctor, came to his help by proffering 
penknives. 

“Why didn’t you think of that sooner?” he said, 
as Billy severed the strands of the rope and started 
down the aisle with the struggling sheep. 

“ Stop your laughing, or I’ll make April fools of a 
score or two of you,” he added, rapping furiously on 
his desk. When order was somewhat restored, he 
stepped to the door, and calling to Billy, who was 
far down the stair?, said : — “ Keep all those gew- 


28 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME , 


gaws, for they will give some light on this unpar- 
donable outrage.” 

“All right, .sir,” shouted Billy, blowing with his 
efforts to dislodge his refractory companion. 

“Now, boys, I want to know the authors of this 
unheard-of caper. Some of you are guilty — more 
than one I judge from the labor poor Billy seems 
to be expending on the sheep’s exit. If you are 
honorable enough to inform on yourselves, it will 
be well for you. I will wait a few minutes to hear 
your statements.” 

After looking at ills watch steadily for five minutes 
he replaced it in his pocket, saying: 

“Very well, 1 can bide my time. This thing shall 
be sifted thoroughly, and woe-betide the cowardly 
perpetrators of this outrage.” 



\ 


CHAPTER V. 

THE CASTAWAY. 


FTEE prayer Professor Hied turned to Dr- 
Armitage, and in a low voice said : 

“I think young Eadie could give a 
pretty straight account of this affair if he would.” 

“What put that into your head?” asked the Doctor 
a little gruffly. 

“ You are aware that he is not an early riser, but 
this morning he was astir before it was clearly light,” 
answered the Professor, in his usual quiet tone. 

“What proof have you of this?” inquired Dr. 
Armitage, impatiently. 

“None except my own observation,” replied the 
Professor, evidently enjoying the discomfort of his 
superior. “You know his room is next to mine, 
and my morning nap was quite spoiled by the 
racket he and Scott made at such an early hour.” 

“Could the boys not get up a little earlier than 
usual without having any such mischief in view?” 
asked the old Doctor. “I think that is rather 
flimsy evidence, or it would be if produced in 
court, I am certain.” 

“You interrupted me before I was through,” said 
the other gentleman, still retaining his self-possession. 
“ After fumbling round in the dark for a little, they 
succeeded in striking a light, and then, haring dressed 


so 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


themselves hastily, they tip-toed out of the room and 
down the back stairs, pausing just long enough to rap 
lightly on young Jewell’s door. A few minutes later 
some one came out of No. 24, and went softly down 
the front stairs. I turned over and tried to go asleep, 
thinking the boys were going down to the station to 
meet the early train. I did not hear them when 
they came back, but they were all there at the 
breakfast table looking as innocent as if nothing 
had happened/’ 

“ And feeling that way, too, no doubt, for most 
probably your first conclusion— sending them to the 
station — 'w&s correct ; at least it was the most chari- 
table.” 

Understanding the implied rebuke, Professor Kied 
said nothing, but quietly following the Principal’s 
example, hurried away to his waiting class. 

Later in the day Dr. Armitage met Billy in the 
hall, and asked if he had heard any thing new con- 
cerning the morning disturbance. 

“ Not a breath, Doctor. Them April-fool fellows 
has jist covered up every thing that could give ’em 
away,” answered^Billy. 

“Well, we will uncover some of their roguery for 
them before they are many days older,” returned 
the Doctor, as he continued his regular, measured 
tramp. 

“I am not so sure of that,” chuckled Billy, and 
then he sat down and laughed till the tears rolled 
down his cheeks at the remembrance of the ridiculous 
scene he had witnessed in the morning. “My! 
wasn’t he mad though!” he gasped, with a nod 
in the direction the old gentleman had fakeu. 

The next morning, just after chapel, Dr. Armitage 


THE CASTAWAY. 


31 


held up some scraps of blue leather, and fitting them 
into the curves of the goggles, said: — “Do you see, 
boys, what a nice fit we have here? These scraps 
were picked up in Donald Bergh’s shoe-shop. For 
the young gentleman’s sake, I hope he can say that 
he is ignorant of how they reached that particular 
place.” 

“It would be impossible for me to make such a 
statement, when I put them there myself,” said 
Donald, firmly. His face was white, and there wa& 
a quiver in his voice, but he remained standing as if 
expecting something more. 

Dr. Armitage looked at him sharply for a few 
moments, and then he said, with suppressed anger 
in his voice : 

“Then you cut the goggles, I presume?” 

“ I did, sir, but I was entirely ignorant of the use 
to which they were to be put,” assented Donald. 

“That seems unreasonable,” said the old Doctor,, 
shaking his head gravely. 

“ I cut the spectacles just as I would have done a 
ball cover or whip-lash for any of the fellows — never 
— thinking that I would be called upon to give an 
account of my motives.” 

“You were acquainted with the party for whom 
you did this little service?” insisted the Doctor. 

“ That I do not deny,” admitted Dotiald. 

“ Then name him at once,” was the command. 

“I cannot do that, for I promised I would say 
nothing about it,” was Donald’s quick reply. 

“ I told you that we need not fear any thing from 
that source,” Dick whispered in Eadie's ear. 

“He’s a brick!” declared Gerald, without raising 
his eyes from the book spread out before him. 


so 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


themselves hastily, they tip-toed out of the room and 
down the back stairs, pausing just long enough to rap 
lightly on young Jewell’s door. A few minutes later 
some one came out of No. 24, and went softly down 
the front stairs. I turned over and tried to go asleep, 
thinking the boys were going down to the station to 
meet the early train. I did not hear them when 
they came back, but they were all there at the 
breakfast table looking as innocent as if nothing 
had happened.” 

“And feeling that way, too, no doubt, for most 
probably your first conclusion— sending them to the 
station — \^s correct; at least it was the most chari- 
table.” 

Understanding the implied rebuke, Professor Kied 
said nothing, but quietly following the Principals 
example, hurried away to his waiting class. 

Later in the day Dr. Armitage met Billy in the 
hall, and asked if he had heard any thing new con- 
cerning the morning disturbance. 

“Not a breath, Doctor. Them April-fool fellows 
has jist covered up every thing that could give ’em 
away,” answered^Billy. 

“Well, we will uncover some of their roguery for 
them before they are many days older,” returned 
the Doctor, as he continued his regular, measured 
tramp. 

“I am not so sure of that,” chuckled Billy, and 
then he sat down and laughed till the tears rolled 
down his cheeks at the remembrance of the ridiculous 
scene he had witnessed in the morning. “My! 
wasn’t he mad though!” he gasped, with a nod 
in the direction the old gentleman had taken. 

The next morning, just after chapel, Dr. Armitage 


THE CASTAWAY . 


31 


held up some scraps of blue leather, and fitting them 
into the curves of the goggles, said: — “Do you see, 
boys, what a nice fit we have here? These scraps 
were picked up in Donald Bergh’s shoe-shop. For 
the young gentleman’s sake, I hope he can say that 
he is ignorant of how they reached that particular 
place.” 

“It would be impossible for me to make such a 
statement, when I put them there myself,” said 
Donald, firmly. His face was white, and there TyaS' 
a quiver in his voice, but he remained standing as if 
expecting something more. 

Dr. Armitage looked at him sharply for a few 
moments, and then he said, with suppressed anger 
in his voice : 

“Then you cut the goggles, I presume?” 

“ I did, sir, but I was entirely ignorant of the use 
to which they were to be put,” assented Donald. 

“That seems unreasonable,” said the old Doctor, 
shaking his head gravely. 

“ I cut the spectacles just as I would have done a 
ball cover or whip-lash for any of the fellows — never 
— thinking that I would be called upon to give an 
account of my motives.” 

“You were acquainted with the party for whom 
you did this little service?” insisted the Doctor. 

“ That I do not deny,” admitted Doftald. 

“Then name him at once,” was the command. 

“I cannot do that, for I promised I would say 
nothing about it,” was Donald’s quick reply. 

“ I told you that we need not fear any thing from 
that source,” Dick whispered in Eadie's ear. 

“He’s a brick!” declared Gerald, without raising 
his eyes from the book spread out before him. 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


One evening Dr. Armitage called in his shop and 
asked him if he could put a stitch or two in his shoe,, 
which, in spite of polish, persisted in leaking. Receiv- 
ing an answer in the affirmative, he took a seat, and 
while Donald worked he drew from him his intentions, 
concerning the future. 

“ I wish you much success in your undertaking, I 
am sure,” be said, as he took the shoe from the boy’s 
hand. “ If you come across any thing you cannot 
understand come to me for a lift. I would be glad 
to assist you.” 

‘*1 scarcely think I shall do that, Doctor, but I 
will do my best with what aid I can obtain from 
books,” replied Donald, counting out the change 
from the bill the Doctor had given him. 

“Keep it — keep it,” urged the Doctor. “Put it in 
your pocket. You have earned it fairly enough.” 

“You owe me only a nickel, and I cannot take 
more than is right,” was Donald’s quiet response. 

Baffled again the Doctor bowed himself out, wishing 
the young cobbler “good-evening.” 

Early in May Donald was offered a situation in the 
establishment of Mannering & Co , at Egbert. He 
accepted at once, not, however, until he had given 
them the true version of his standing in the Academy 
at Easterbrook. He was then told that his staunch 
regard for his word upon this occasion had much to 
do with their desire to secure his services. Aunt Pen 
insisted upon him returning to his old quarters in the 
stately mansion, and for Christine’s sake, he acceded 
to her wishes. 

Before the close of the year Dick was sent home in 
disgrace, and his dissipated habits were not long in 
closing Aunt Pen’s doors against him. To the old 


TEE CASTA WA Y. 


35 


Aunt first, and then to every person who would listen, 
he told the true story of the joke which he and his 
friends had played upon Donald. 





CHAPTER VI. 

MISJUDGED. 

a cheery face it was that Donald 
\ \ f Bergh carried into the People’s Bank that 

^ v* bright December morning! The cashier 
took the check from his hand, and after glancing over 
it counted out a number of bills, wrapped a paper 
around them, and then, pushing the package towards 
him, nodded his head, as much as to say, “ Take it and 
go” 

Donald took up the roll, slipped it into his breast- 
pocket, buttoned his overcoat up tightly, and then 
hurried away. 

“Halloo, Donald! I have been waiting for you an 
age,” said a well-known voice, as he closed the door. 

“Not that long, I am certain, Dick,” answered 
Donald. “It is not more than ten minutes since I 
went in there, and you were not here then. But 
what are you after, anyway? I know you have 
some purpose, and I am in great haste.” 

“How is Aunt Pen off for chink now?” asked 
Dick, lowering his voice. 

“You know, Dick, that her purse strings have been 
held pretty tightly of late. You cannot expect any 
thing from her, I am sure. But we must not stand 
here talking. We will attract attention. Lee us 
move on,” said Donald, turning in a direction oppo- 

SG 


MISJUDGED. 


37 


site the one leading to Mr. Mannering’s establish- 
ment. 

“ It is a pity that Donald Bergh insists in making 
an associate of that profligate Dick Jewell,” said Mr. 
Bateman, the cashier, with a meaning nod in the direc- 
tion of the door. 

“ Cousins ! ” volunteered the clerk addressed. “ You 
know the old saying — “ Birds of a feather — ” 

“ No good comes of such companionship,” persisted 
Bateman, turning indifferently to his account book. 

Mr. Mannering nodded \yhen Donald placed the 
roll upon his desk, but he finished his writing before 
opening the package. Thinking all was right, Don- 
ald went to wait on a customer, and nearly an hour 
elapsed before he was summoned to the office of his 
employer. „ 

“For what amount did that check call? ,, asked the 
gentleman abruptly, as Donald made his appearance. 

“ Five hundred dollars, you said.” 

“Did you count the bills you gave me?” 

“No! Mr. Bateman rolled them together and 
slipped a rubber around the package. I placed it 
in my breast-pocket, and did not touch it again 
until I gave it to you. Is there any thing wrong 
about it?” 

* 

“This money is short by one hundred dollars,” 
answered Mr. Mannering, throwing the roll of bills 
toward the frightened boy. 

Donald ran over them, hastily at first, and then 
counted them carefully, noticing particularly that 
no two bills were sticking together. Satisfied that 
he had made no mistake in counting, he looked at 
Mr. Mannering as if half-expecting him to solve 
the puzzling question, but his fi^ce was white and 


38 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


stern, and when he spoke his voice sounded unnat- 
urally harsh. 

“ Are you certain that you wrote the check for the 
amount intended ?” faltered Donald, changing color 
painfully. 

“ I never was more certain of any thing in my life, 
boy,” was Mr. Mannering’s withering reply. 

“ ‘ Then Mr. Bateman must have made a mistake,” 
was Donald’s quick rejoiner. 

“Mr. Bateman makes no mistakes, sir,” said the 
merchant decidedly, shaking his head by way of 
emphasis. 

“ It could not have slipped out of the paper,” said 
the boy desperately, every moment adding to his 
embarrassment. “Mr. Bateman has surely made a 
mistake which he will readily rectify. . I will go at 
once and see him.” 

“We will go together,” said Mr. Mannering, but- 
toning up his coat. “ Mr. Bateman may be able to 
throw some light on the case, though I predict before 
starting that he knows nothing about that missing 
hundred dollars. He is au honest, upright, method- 
ical man, and was never known to make a blunder.” 

His tone, more than his words, vexed Donald, and 
the walk of half a dozen blocks was taken in silence. 

Going directly to the cashier when they entered 
the building, Mr. Mannering asked abruptly : — “ Mr. 
Bateman, what was the amount of the check you 
cashed for us an hour ago?” 

“In the neigborhood of five hundred dollars, I 
think. Just five hundred,” he acfcied, referring 
his book. “ Was it not satisfactory?” 

“Not by a hundred dollars,” replied Mr Man* 


MISJUDGED. 


39 


liering, sharply. “ It could not be possible that 
you made a mistake, I suppose ? ” 

“ You are the first man that ever intimated such a 
thing to me. No, sir! I permit no mistakes, but to 
satisfy you, and make assurance doubly sure, I will 
run over my balance.” 

After making his fingers fly among the crisp bills 
for a few minutes, he shook his head, saying, “ All is 
right here, sir.” 

44 That is the decision I expected. Donald insisted 
that the mistake must have arisen with you. He is 
certain that the money was not out of his pocket 
from the time he placed it there until he delivered 
it to me.” 

‘‘Strange, indeed!” muttered the cashier. “Was 
not that your Cousin Dick Jewell who was waiting 
for you at the door?” he asked, turning his eyes full 
upon Donald. 

“ No — yes — that is, he was not waiting for me ; at 
least I did not kn^w that he was there until I went 
out,” s f ammered Donald. 

“ O ! I thought it might have been an arrangement 
between you. He certainly expected some one. You 
remember, Gilbert, I mentioned the vicious appear- 
ance of the fellow, and spoke disapprovingly of young 
Bergh associating with him at the time,” retorted Mr. 
Bateman, addressing the latter part of his remarks 
to the clerk whose attention he had enlisted at the 
time. 

“ I was ignorant of his whereabouts until he sj>oke 
to me at the door,” insisted Donald. 

“ I chanced to notice that you turned down South 
street instead of going directly back to your place of 
employment,” said Mr. Bateman, with a look that the 


40 


IN SEAE II OF A HOME . 


boy fully interpreted. He did not explain, however,, 
that he had left his desk for the express purpose of 
watching him, nor that he had observed the vaga- 
bond Cousin crossing the street and stationing him- 
self at the door after Donald had entered the Bank. 

The boy hesitated a moment, but knowing that 
three pair of suspicious eyes were upon him, he 
admitted that he had gone out of the way to talk 
with Dick. 

“ Why did you choose that round-about way 
instead of the honest, open, direct one?” asked 
Mr. Manner ing. 

“ Dick wanted to have a quiet talk with me, and 
there was no chance on the busy crowded street,” 
faltered Donald, fumbling nervously with his watch- 
chain. 

“So you chose the back alleys for your reforma- 
tory work,” sneered Mr. Mannering. “I confess I 
do not agree with your tactics in this case. You 
surely have not shown your usual good sense in 
dealing with that good-for-nothing Cousin. If he 
was •'anxious to confide his troubles to you, why did 
you not invite him to walk back to the store w T ith 
you?” 

“You forget that he was forbidden to set foot in 
your establishment,” reminded Donald. 

“ Then — under that ban — you should not have gone 
out of your way to accommodate him,” returned Mr. 
Mannering. 

“Dick is not the kind of a lad you want for an 
associate, my boy,” said Mr. Bateman. “ It must 
have been something very important that he could 
not impart during the time you conversed at the 
door.” 


MISJUDGED . 






At 


“ Dick was in trouble, poor fellow ; for that" matter 
he is always in trouble — but he tells me things that 
he would not like other people to know,” admitted 
Donald. 

“ That is just what I supposed. If he had wanted 
other folks to know what mischief he was up to, he 
would have walked right in here, and made what 
arrangements he thought best with you,” said Mr. 
Bateman, with a sarcastic smile. 

“ I am about all the friend the poor fellow has left, 
and I have not the heart to turn a deaf ear to his 
requests for help,” said Donald. 

“Not if you are injured thereby?” asked Mr. 
Bateman. 

“Not if I am injured,” replied Donald, without 
flinching an inch. 











CHAPTER VII. 

SEEKING AN EXPLANATION. 


MANNERING made no comment on 



Donald’s admission, while in the presence 
5>of others, but his compressed lips and 


ominous silence argued nothing in favor of the tremb- 
ling boy at his side. 

“ I would not be in that chap’s place for all the old 
gentleman is worth,” said the clerk, as the door closed 
after the visitors. 

“It is a bad piece of business — a bad piece of 
business,” repeated Mr. Bateman, shaking his head 
soberly. “Pity, too, for the lad is a go-ahead sort 
of a fellow, and heretofore had the entire confidence 
of his employers.” 

“ He will get a free pass to the city prison now, or 
I’ll miss my guess,” returned Gilbert. 

Mr. Bateman glanced up quickly, and there was a 
troubled look in his eyes as he ventured, “ He is a 
great favorite with Mr. Mannering.” 

“ That will stand for nothing when he finds he has 
been deceived,” answered the clerk. 

“I trust he will be as lenient as possible,” said 
the cashier, soberly. “No doubt that outcast of a 
Cousin laid the plot. You know they were brought 
up together, and some affection seems to still exist, 


SEEKING AN EXPLANATION. 


though the ill-natured Aunt set Dick afloat months 
ago” 

“ And he still remains a hanger-on, I guess. At 
least, he has no visible means of earning his support, 
and yet he always manages to get something to eat 
and drink,” volunteered the clerk. “ There he goes 
this minute rigged out in a new suit — hat and all,” 
he cried, as Dick emerged from a restaurant on the 
opposite side of the street. 

Both of the men hurried to the door, but the 
transformed rogue, seeing that he was attracting 
attention, quickened his step, and in a moment 
disappeared around a corner. 

“ Mr. Mannering ought to be put on the track of 
the scoundrel,” said the clerk, as he closed the door. 

“Let him look after this ugly business himself,” 
sugge sted Mr. Bateman. “ I pity that young fellow 
in his clutches, and do not feel like bringing him to 
grief.” 

The clerk looked keenly into the speaker’s face. 
He was not accustomed to hear such w T ords from 
the upright man befure him. 

“You see, Gilbert, I have a boy of my own just 
about Donald Bergh’s age, and there is a tender spot 
in my heart for all young lads. I do not know how 
soon my boy may need befriending. That old golden 
rule is a very good rule to live by, and to judge other 
people by as well,” said Mr. Bateman. 

Customers coming in at this juncture the subject 
was dropped. 

Neither Mr. Mannering nor Donald spoke until 
they reached the store, and then, in obedience to a 
sign from his employer, the boy followed him into his 
office. Mr. Mannering dropped into a chair, and for 


44 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


a moment bowed bis bead upon bis bands ; then look- 
ing up be said sternly: 

“ Donald, I cannot express tbe pain I have experi- 
enced at tbe strange turn things have taken to-day. 
For more than two years I have loved and trusted 
you, and if any one bad charged you with dishonesty, 
I would have defended your fair name with tbe last 
dollar I possess. If your wages were insufficient for 
your wants why did you not apply to me for help?” 

Tbe poor fellow was so oppressed by tbe gravity 
of tbe charge made against him that it was some 
minutes before be could control bis voice so as to 
assert hi3 innocence. 

“ I beg of you, do not add to your crime by denying 
it,” interrupted Mr. Mannering, with a wave of bis 
band. “ I would rather have lost five hundred dollars 
than to have suffered betrayal at your t^nds. Con- 
fess it all to me now, and no one shall ever reproach 
you for your treachery.” 

“You charge me with a crime I never committed, 
Mr. Mannering. How then can I make reparation? 
How can I confess to a thing I did not do?” begged 
Donald, trembling from bead to foot. 

“Boy, why will you persist in bringing disgrace 
upon yourself? You are aware that mercy is not 
in the catalogue off your Aunt Penelope’s virtues. 
If you will confide frankly and trustfully in me, I 
will assist you, and tbe tale of your wrong-doing 
may never reach her ears. Think well now before 
you speak.” 

Straightening himself up to his full height, Donald 
replied in a clear, firm voice : 

“ Much as I regret giving her pain, I cannot shield 
myself by taking refuge beneath a falsehood. I am 


45 


PEEKING AN EXPLANATION. 

innocent, though I am compelled to admit that cir- 
cumstances are very much against me.” 

“You knew the character of your Cousin Dick, 
and should not have thrown yourself in his power,” 
responded Mr. Mannering, quietly ignoring Donald’s 
protest. “You knew, too, that neither your Aunt 
nor your employers approved of the intimacy that 
seems still to exist between you and that graceless 
scamp who has been the means of bringing you 
into trouble. No doubt the fellow was aware of 
your business at the bank and followed you there 
for a purpose.” 

« You wrong Dick as well as me. He knew 
nothing about the roll of bills tucked away in my 
pocket — at least the subject was not so much as 
mentioned between us. Had he surmised my busi- 
ness, and proposed appropriating some of the money, 
I would have protected it with my life, if necessary. 
I am sure he is quite innocent of the wrong you 
impute to him.” 

« Then what was he after?” urged Mr. Mannering, 
and his imperative tone convinced Donald that no 
evasion would answer this time, so in a very few 
words he explained all that had passed between them. 

“And I am to understand that you really furnished 
him with money to buy a suit of clothes?” exclaimed 
Mr. ManneriDg in astonishment. 

“What else could I have done, sir? He is going 
to turn over a new le ' f and start fair in the world, 
and no one could begin to live a respectable life in 
such tattered garments,” answered Donald. 

“A respectable fiddlesticks!” exclaimed the mer- 
chant. irritably. “ Do you have the remotest expec- 
tation of such a transformation occurring?” 


11 V SEAR II OF A HOME. 


46 

“ He promised to go away and remain among stran- 
gers until he had redeemed the past,” answered Don- 
ald. 

‘‘That was some inducement to send him away, 
truly,” retorted Mr. Mannering. “ However, I am 
of the opinion that you would have manifested more 
wisdom by putting the suit upon your own "back. I 
understood that your Aunt invested your small earn- 
ing in the Saving Bank. How is it, then, that you 
have ten or twelve dollars at command for this vag- 
rant Cousin?” 

“My Uncle Eobert^Lee sent me twenty dollars for 
a birthday present. The next week he died, and I 
never broke the bill until this morning,” answered 
Donald. 

“You can produce this letter in evidence, I pre- 
sume,” queried the relentless man, watching keenly 
the effects of his words. 

“ I fekr I cannot. By some means it was misplaced 
soon after its arrival, and all my search hitherto has 
failed to bring it light,” was the hesitating reply. 

Mr. Mannering kept his eyes fixed steadily upon 
him for a tew minutes, and then, with an impatient 
gesture, said: — “I am disappointed in you, Donald. 
If you would be straightforward and frank with me 
— even after all that has passed — I would stand up 
for you. This prevaricating does not become a Bergh, 
and if you know what is best for you, you will not 
allow a breath of this scandal to reach the ears of 
your Aunt. This story about your Uncled letter is 
too shallow to bear repetition. It is not faceable, and 
any one would know from its absurdity that you were 
not an adept in the art of lying.” 

The crimson blood mounted to Donald’s face, but 


• SEEKING AN EXPLANATION. 


47 


lie was too indignant to make a reply. Compressing 
his lips tightly, he took a step backward, and then 
stoppe 1, as if expecting other invectives to follow. 

Mr. Mannering waited a few moments, but as no 
answer came, he turned to his desk, counted out 
twenty dollars, and pushing it towards the silent 
figure, said: 

“ Here is your half month’s wages. The time is 
not quite up, but I will pay you the full amount, 
as you will find use for it.” 

“ I will not touch* it until that hundred dollars is 
found, but I do not wish you to infer from this that I 
admit the charge you have preferred against me.” 

“ Admit it or not, there is no court in the United 
States that would return a verdict in your favor,” 
replied Mr. Mannering, irritated at the boy’s obsti- 
nancy. 

“Is that all?” asked Donald, with as much calm- 
ness as if addressing his employer on some ordinary 
subject. 

“ That is all,” returned Mr. Mannering, in a firm 
voice. Without a moment’s hesitation, Donald turned 
on his heel and walked out. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

LEAVING HOME . 


** has brought you home at this 

\ \ J hour of the day?” demanded Aunt Pen, 
^ ^ as Donald entered the apartment where 
she was sitting. “ It is not ten o’clock yet,” glancing 
up at the little time-piece on the mantle. 

“ I have been discharged, Aunt,” replied Donald, 
huskily. 

66 Discharged ! What mischief have you been into 
now?” cried the old woman shortly. 

“None, Aunt Pen,” was the answer. “I am inno- 
cent of the crime Mr. Mannering charges me with,” 

“Come, come, my boy! That will not do. Mr. 
Mannering is an upright man, and would not impli- 
cate you in any wrong-doing without having first 
satisfied himself of your guilt,” replied Aunt Pen. 
“ You must have done something dreadful to demand 
such swift punishment.” 

“ The crime he imputes to me is dreadful, but, as I 
told you before, I am not guilty. His charges are 
cruel and false.” 

66 Tell me what they are, and then I can form my 
own judgment about that,” urged Aunt Pen. “You 
don’t expect me to guess, do you ? ” with an impatient 
jerk at the yarn she was winding. 

Donald related all that had passed in as few words 

48 


LEA VING HOME. 


49 


as possible, but short as he made his explanation, he 
was several times interrupted by the angry woman, 
and it was with considerable difficulty that he finally 
succeeded in making her understand both sides of the 
troublesome story. 

When he was through she fixed her angry eyes on 
his white face, and said with a sneer: 

‘•Donald Bergh, you are a disgrace to the honor- 
able name you bear. I am ashamed of you. Any 
person with the least bit of common sense could see 
that your story was a pumped up affair — invented to 
suit the occasion,” snapped the old woman. “It’s 
just what might have been expected from one who, 
in spite of all warnings, persists in associating with 
the scum of creation.” 

“What do you mean, Aunt?” demanded Donald, 
his dark eyes flashing indignantly. 

“ I mean just exactly what I say, sir. You have 
been told over and over again to have no dealings 
with that scrape-grace Dick, and if he has gotten 
you into trouble all I have got to say is, ‘Get out 
of the scrape the best way you can.’ ” 

“I did not come to you for sympathy, Aunt. I 
knew better than to expect any mercy at your hands,” 
replied Donald, proudly. 

“ Then what in the world did you expect?” queried 
Aunt Pen, with an impatient shrug of her shoulder. 

“I expected you to believe Mr. Mannering’s state- 
ment, and to follow his example by turning me out 
of doors,” replied Donald. 

“•Then you’ll not be disappointed when I tell you 
that your presence here is no longer agreeable,” she 
said. 

“Not in the least, Aunt. I have never deceived 


50 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


you in all the years I have lived under your roof, 
yet, because circumstances are not in my favor, you 
are ready to condemn me without even a show of a 
trial,” remarked Donald, for the first time showing 
signs of agitation. 

“ Tell me what good a public trial would do? I 
think you might be grateful to Mr. Mannering for 
allowing you to escape so easily. Why, boy, don’t 
you know that the penitentiary would be your doom 
were you found guilty?” 

“I would not be found guilty, Aunt Pen. I am 
innocent, and disinterested parties might judge less 
partially than you or Mr. Mannering.” 

“ Humph! You do not seem to have much faith 
in our integrity,” jetorted Aunt Pen, a little stiffly. 

“ I think you are both honest in your convictions, 
but you have not enough charity to admit of the 
possibility of a mistake. You are unjust to Dick, 
too, for- he never saw the roll of money that was 
lost out of my 'pocket on the way — and I am pretty 
certain that he knew nothing about it.” 

“ How did you come to give him money when you 
had been commanded to let him severely alone?” 

“ If you had seen him, Aunt, you would have 
pitied him, I am sure. The poor fellow is sorry 
on account of the trouble he has given you, and 
I honestly believe he wishes to reform. You know 
there would be very small chances of turning over 
a new leaf while clothed in rags.” 

“I’d like to see the leaf Dick turns. He knows 
you are fool enough to believe all he says, and when 
he gets what he wants, he keeps quiet until he has 
spent it. Then he comes back with a pitiful story, 
and you are fool enough to believe him.” 


LEAVING HOME. 


51 


“ He’ll not come back this time, Aunt. T believe 
he is in earnest now, and he has promised to go away 
and not trouble you any more.” 

“ I sincerely hope he will keep his promise, Donald, 
but, torment that he has been, I would much rather 
put up with him than have you steal to help him off,” 
urged Aunt Pen, a little softened. 

“ Why will you insist that the money I gave Dick 
was stolen, Aunt? Did I not explain how it came 
into my possession?” asked Donald. 

“ Why did you not tell me about the present you 
received? You do not get favors from your friends 
so often that you would be likely to pass them over so 
carelessly.” 

“ I intended to spend part of that money purchas- 
ing Christmas presents, and as you and Christine are 
my only relatives here I wished to give you a genuine 
surprise,” faltered Donald. 

“It would have been a surprise, indeed. I am not 
in the habit of being remembered in that way often. 
If you can show me the letter in which that money 
came I will be satisfied that you are telling the truth; 
otherwise, in the absence of proof, I must believe that 
you never received it. It would be very odd to lose 
a letter under the circumstances you describe.” 

“ i am not in the habit of taking special care of 
my letters, and it was not until after Uncle’s death — - 
a month after it Lad been received — that I tried to 
look it up. As it was his last memento, I was anxious 
to keep it.” 

“That will not stand the test, Donald,” replied 
Aunt Pen, shaking her head wisely. “ You must 
manufacture a better excuse, sir, if you hope to 
convince people of your innocence. I wish I had 


IX SEARCH OF A HOME . 


not consented to take you off the pauper’s list. It 
seems that I am to have nothing but trouble with 
the children whom I have taken to my home and 
heart.” 

“A mighty small share of her heart has she dis- 
tributed among them,” sneered Christine from behind 
the kitchen door. 

“ Dick was a black sheep from his babyhood — he 
was born\to an unlucky fate, but I expected better 
things from you. I did, indeed. It is the Lee blood 
in your veins asserting itself. No Bergh ever com- 
mitted a villainous act. Your mother was of low 
birth.” 

“That is enough on that subject, Aunt Pen,” 
exclaimed Donald, with rising color. “You can 
say what you please about me, but the moment 
you touch the character of my sainted mother all 
the tiger in my nature comes to the surface. She 
was the best woman in the world. I have nothing 
but hallowed memories of her beautiful life.” 

“ Humph! You are disposed to be complimentary. 
I knew your mother long before you were born. She 
was only a poor music teacher — good enough in her 
proper sphere, no doubt, but she was no match for a 
Bergh.” 

“ Because she was entirely too good for the best 
Bergh that ever lived,” exclaimed Christine, sud- 
denly appearing on the scene. 

“ Who asked your opinion, miss? Go back to your 
work, and do not meddle with what does not concern 
you,” retorted Aunt Pen, sharply. “ Go, I say.” 

Christine stepped back slowly until at a safe dis- 
tance. and then, in a defiant manner, repeated the 
assertion at which her Aunt had taken offence. 


LEAVING HOME. 


S3 


“Where did you get your information conc6rning 
your Cousin Norman’s wife, Miss Impudence?” asked 
Aunt Pen, with an attempt to subdue the girl with 
one of her withering looks. 

“ Donald is so different from Dick and me, and I 
am sure he owes all his advantages to the influence 
of his gentle mother. His bringing up was much 
more refined and humane than ours, and he shows it. 
My mother died when I was too small to know my 
loss, but all the boys and girls that I am acquainted 
with are, genuine copies of the mother’s in the homes;” 

“ If you are sample of my work I acknowledge that 
I have made a desperate failure,” answered Aunt Pen, 
eyeing the girl from head to foot 

“The conclusion is not very flattering, is it?” 
asked Christine scornfully, turning slowly round that 
the old woman might complete her survey more per- 
fectly. “I am free to say that both Dick and I are 
bad grafts on the home tree, but I could take an oath 
this minute that Cousin Donald did not steal the 
money that in some way disappeared so mysteriously. 
It’s my opinion that Mr. Bateman knows more about 
its whereabouts than he lets on.” 

“Christine! How dare you make such insinua- 
tions,” began Aunt Pen, but the girl had disap- 
peared, and she consoled herself by giving Donald 
a little of her mind concerning wicked Christine. 

“The hundred dollars that I invesled for you 
shall be turned over to Mr. Mannering to make 
up his loss,” said Aunt Pen, coolly, at the close of 
the interview. 

“I protest against such a measure,” retorted Don- 
ald, angrily. “ I have no right to give him my email 
earnings — at least not until a jury of twelve men find 
me guilty of the robbery.” 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


54 


“ I am your guardian, and I’ll decide that matter 
myself, and if you had the least bit of gratitude you 
would rejoice that you are at liberty to repair the 
damage instead of being compelled to spend half your 
life in the State prison.” 

Too angry to contend longer with the unreasonable 
woman, Donald bade her good-by, and went up to his 
room to pack his satchel. Once more, before leaving 
for good, he made an exhaustive search for that letter, 
which, even yet, might save his name from the brand 
of “ thief.” Despairing of finding it, he put his room 
to rights and passed down the stairs and out of the 
front door. 

“ Were you going away without so much as a word 
to me?” asked Christine, emerging from behind one 
of the great pillars of the old-fashioned house. 

“ I intended to go round by the kitchen. . I wanted 
to thank you for coming to the defence of my dead 
mother, when she was assailed, as well as to say good- 
by. No, indeed, Christine, I shall never forget you, 
for you have always been a true friend to me. You 
must think a little about me when I am gone.” 

“You know better than to make such a request of 
me. I’ll think of you every day and every hour, for 
things will be dreadful dull with both you and Dick 
away,” said the girl, hoarsely. “ And I will do more 
than think of you, Donald, I’m bound to hunt down that 
thief and clear you of the false charge. Don’t look 
at me as though you had no confidence in my ability, 
lam only a poor, ugly, disagreeable girl, but all the 
sunshine I ever enjoyed was of your making, and I 
will not rest until your wrong is righted.” 

“Thauk you, Christine, I believe you will do all in 
your power, but I fear I am doomed to live a roaming 


LEAVING HOME. 


55 


life. However, I will try to make the best" of my 
hard lot, 4 and I hope you will be happy. Try to live 
£S agreeable as possible with Aunt. Some day she 
will understand your true value, and reward you for 
all your vexations.” 

Christine laughed — a little, low, mocking laugh — 
but before she had time to answer Aunt Pen’s shrill 
voice was heard calling, “Christine! Christine! where 
are you ?” 

“There! You’d better go,” she said, and with a 
warm clasp of the hand, and a kind good-by, Donald 
turned away. 



i 


CHAPTER IX. 

IN -SEARCH OF WORK . 


ONALD paused only once to take a fare- 
1 well look at the stately mansion that had 
skeltered him for the last three years. 
Not a sign of life was visible, and except in Aunt 
Pen’s room all the shutters in the front of the great 
building were tightly closed. 

“ It is a grand old house, but not a home,” he said 
thoughtfully. “Poor Aunt Pen shuts all the sunshine 
out from her heart just as religiously as she does from 
her house. I pity her, and if I were going away # with 
an untarnished name I would rejoice that I was get- 
ting away from the chilly atmosphere of a habitation 
that could never be any thing more than a house.” 

At this point in the soliloquy the shrill whistle of 
the engine, and the rumbling of the train in the dis- 
tance, reminded him that he had no time to lose. 

Procuring his ticket, he boarded .the train just as 
it was moving off. There was a heavy weight at his 
heart as he watched familiar objects receding from 
his view. 

In spite of the circumstances under which he was 
going away, he felt a little homesick as the old scenes 
gave place to new objects and new faces. 

Although he had very little money left in his 
pocket-book, the thought that he was free sent the 
blood coursing proudly through his veins. 


56 


IN SEARCH OF WORK. 


57 


Knowing that his slender purse, would not admit 
of much sight-seeing, Donald’s first business after 
he arrived in a Western city was to look about 
him for work. From the reports that he had heard 
about the demands of the West, he expected to obtain 
employment without any trouble, but the first day's 
experience convinced him that he had made a great 
mistake. Business was brisk and people seemed to 
be rushing along at a great rate, but the supply of 
laborers was equal to the demand. 

Day after day he paced to and fro only to hear the 
stereotyped “not in need of any more help.” The 
week closed dolefully enough for the lonely boy. 
Sunday morning dawned clear and bright, and 
remembering the promise he had made his mother 
before she died, Donald joined the crowd on the 
street and followed until he came to an imposing 
church edifice. Great masses of people were passing 
in through its hospitable door. He waited, thinking 
some one would invite him to enter, as they did at 
the little chapel where he worshipped at home; how- 
ever, except now and then an impolite stare, he 
attracted no attention. With the first clear, deep 
tones of the organ, he ventured within, stopping 
directly under an arch of evergreen in which immor- 
telles were so interwoven as to spell “Welcome.” 
For a moment the grandeur of the church dazzled 
him, then he noticed that others, like himself, 
remained standing. He was sure that their pres- 
ence was no mystery to the usher, for he elbowed 
his way past them to wait on fine gentlemen and 
ladies, whom he conducted to soft cushioned seats. 

The church was not crowded, and in many elegant 
pews there w T ere vacant seats, but there seemed to be 


68 IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 

no room for plainly dressed people like himself. At 
the close of the voluntary, the minister arose and 
invoked a blessing upon the bowed heads of his 
people. After this the choir joined in that match- 
less hymn : 

“Joy to the world the Lord has come, 

Let earth prepare him room.” 

The singing was artistic -and rendered according to 
the most approved style, but Donald’s face clouded, 
and he wondered if Jesus should come to this church 
in his humility if they would permit him to occupy 
one of the empty seats in the many half-filled pews. 

Just as the last echo of the precious song was dying 
away the clear, well-modulated voice of the gray- 
haired pastor fell like a benediction on the assem- 
bled multitude. The prayer was tender and affecting, 
its grammar and rhetoric faultless, and yet Donald 
beard nothing but the music of the sweet-sounding 
voice. 

The words of the text were: — “Compel them to 
come in, that my house may be filled ! ” 

“Compel them to come in and stand and wait,” 
thought Donald, irreverently. “ And bid them ‘ wel- 
come’ to creep under the beautiful arch and shiver 
from the icy reception they receive.” 

Though the sermon was eloquent and at times 
wondrously pathetic, Donald listened indifferently, as 
though he had neither part nor lot in the matter. 
Somehow he pitied the preacher, for he thought he 
was expounding a gospel of w 7 hich he had no heart 
knowledge. 

At the close of the service he went back to his 
lonely lodging more than ever before doubting the 
sincerity of professing Christians. A warm clasp of 


IN SEARCH OF WORK. 


59 


$i friendly hand, or a kind word of cheer from some 
one of that large congregation, might have, saved 
Donald from years of doubt and uncertainty. Only 
his mother’s religion seemed genuine in his sight. 
Often he would say to himself, “She believed in 
God, and I believed in her, and do yet,” In these 
dark days this was about all the Christianity he 
professed or adhered to. 

As the days dragged slowly along his slim resources 
dwindled away in spite of his rigid economy. Instead 
of hi3 regular meals at a cheap restaurant, he allowed 
himself only a cup of coffee in the morning and con- 
tented himself with crackers or a sandwich during the 
day. 

Almost any other person would have given up and 
looked up another situation, but there was so much 
persistency in Donald Bergh’s make-up that nothing 
short of starvation could have driven him away from 
the city where he first entered. “ If I give up in my 
first attempt at bread-winning I will never succeed, 
he told himself, when ready to give up in despair. 

It was Saturday evening, and a blinding storm of 
sleet and snow had changed the mellow rays of a half- 
Indian summer day into the icy grip of winter. Don- 
ald's last dollar was gone, and more from habit than 
with any hope of securing employment, he took his 
hat from the tab 7 e and went out among the pedes- 
trians who were crowding the slushy pavements. He 
walked along busy with his own distracting thought, 
wondering if Lis indomitable pluck w T ould get him out 
of the trouble into which it had plunged him. A 
sharp voice near him arrested him with: — “Why 
are those boxes left standing on the pavement? 
Where is Wolf that he does not attend to his busi- 
ness ?” 


GO 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


“ Gone home ! ” replied some one near the door. 

“ Gone home! Then get some other person to 
remove this trash and pay him off,” returned the 
first voice, decisively. 

“Shall I clear your pavement, sir?” asked Donald, 
respectfully. 

The man eyed him from .head to foot, then he 
answered angrily : 

“ Do you wish to insult me, sir?” 

“Not at all!” replied Donald. “I am looking for 
a job of work, and I am willing to do any thing 
honest.” 

“Then remove those boxes and come to me for 
your pay. Jones, show this fellow where to pile 
this rubbish, and see that it is done properly,” say- 
ing which he turned and went in, closing the door 
after him. 

Jones looked at him, guessed shrewdly the situa- 
tion and took pains to show his authority. When 
Donald had finished the work he went to Mr. Thayer 
as directed. After receiving his money he said in a 
subdued voice: 

“If you have a vacancy in your establishment I 
would be glad to fill it.” 

The gentleman whistled softly, then he turned and 
looked the speaker squarely in the face. After he 
had satisfied himself that the boy was in earnest, he 
replied : 

“ The place I have on hand would suit a big, stout 
Irishman better than a fine gentleman like yourself.” 

“I am not above any honest work,” Donald 
returned. “ I will do my best to please you if you 
give me a trial.” 

“ Very well! Go to work. If you perform Wolf’s 
duties you shall have his wages.” 


IN SEARCH OF WORK . 


61 


He was then turned o^er to Jones, who" lost no 
opportunity of exhibiting his insolent authority. Don- 
ald was ready to rebel, but remembering that he had 
begged the place of a lackey, he determined to accept 
a lackey’s treatment. 

The next morning the storm had vanished, and the 
sun shone out clear and bright. With his character- 
istic persistence, Donald arranged his toilet carefully 
and took his stand in the identical spot he had occu- 
pied in the grand church on the previous Sunday. 
His main reason for returning was to note how long 
he would be permitted to stand unnoticed. The words 
of the text this day were: — “He came unto his own, 
and his own received him not.” 

While Donald was weighing this congregation, and 
measuring its Christianity by the golden rule, One 
greater than he was holding the scale of justice over 
his head, and he, too, was found wanting. 



CHAPTER X 

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 

next morning, while dus ing and 
arranging the lace window, Donald was startled 

^ by a sharp voice near him saying : 

“ Fool ! have you no more sense than to allow your 
brush toneme in contact with those delicate fabrics ?” 

That cool, exasperating voice could belong to only 
one person in the world, and it was a very white, 
angry face that Donald turned towards his old school- 
mate — Gerald Eadie. For a few minutes the two 
young men stood regarding each other attentively, 
then Gerald, seeing that they were attracting atten- 
tion, said haughtily: 

“If it ever again becomes necessary for me to 
speak to you about those laces, I will discharge you 
immediately. Such unpardonable carelessness cannot 
be tolerated in this establishment.” 

“ By what right do you presume to dictate to me?” 
Donald asked, in a low, but very distinct, voice. 

“You will find out if you use such language in 
my presence,” Eadie answered, his face IDid with 
suppressed rage. 

“Where did you pick up that rascal?” he inquired 
of Mr. Thayer a little later, knowing that he had 
witnessed the unpleasant, but amusing, encounter. 

The gentleman explained that Wolf was off on 

62 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


63 


another spree, and that the young man in question 
had been installed in his place. 

“Then see that he keeps Wolf’s place,” Eadie 
retorted, angrily. “If he ever flies at me again in 
that fashion I’ll kick him out of the door with as 
little compunction as I would a dog. I'll not put 
up with him, I cannot.” 

“ But then, Eadie, you must admit that you began 
on him a little rough-shod,” Mr. Thayer replied, try- 
ing to conceal a smile. He had really admired the 
pluck of the newcomer, though he dared not give 
expression to his feelings. 

“ And so he proposes to ignore me entirely,” mur- 
mured Donald, turning to complete his work ; while 
Eadie growled, “ I was not mistaken then. I thought 
that erect form and proud head could belong to no 
one except Donald Bergh. What brought him here, 
I wonder ? Surely he cannot have fallen so low as to 
be compelled to seek such employment. He shall 
not stay here, or if he does I’ll make things hot for 
him.” 

For several days after this Eadie passed and 
repassed the new porter without noticing him, appar- 
ently, but more than once a keen observer could have 
detected a sinister look in the small gray eyes when 
they chanced to rest upon the well-dressed meniaL 
Donald understood him and tried to keep out of his 
way, for he was apprehensive that another such 
encounter would cost him his situation. Most cer- 
tainly he took no special delight in the rough work 
assigned him, but it provided him with the plain 
necessaries of life, and he had no desire to be thrust 
out of it until he could step from it into a higher and 
more lucrative position. He did not understand why 


IN SEARCH OF A HONE. 


•64 

Eadie should be so bitter against him, as he had done 
nothing to injure him in any way. 

On emorning while Donald was busy, Gerald came 
in more out of sorts than customary. Something out- 
side Imd ruffled his usual good-nature, and the unfor- 
tunate porter was the first one he met on whom he 
could vent his pent-up rage. Glancing around him 
for some cause of complaint, he exclaimed, sharply : 

“ Porter, how does it come that my spittoon has not 
been cleaned since you came? Attend to it at once, 
and do not have me to remind you of it again.” 

The duster fell from Donald’s hand as he retorted 
with much warmth : 

“ You will wait awhile if you depend on me per- 
forming such work.” 

The clerks around exchanged glances, and some of 
them laughed outright, but Eadie coolly responded: 

“ Then I give you ten minutes to leave, for thi3 is 
a part of your work.” 

“By what authority do you utter your commands?” 
inquired Donald, folding his arms as if preparing for 
an entended discussion. 

“ By the authority that an employer is supposed to 
exercise over a hireling,” was the taunting answer. 

“ I made no engagement with you, sir,” said Don- 
ald, haughtily. Then turning to Mr. Thayer, who 
bad come out of his office during the colloquy, he 
inquired, “Is such drudgery included in the labor 
I am to perform?” 

Mr. Thayer nodded affirmatively, and then in a 
tone of apology said: — “You remember that I inti- 
mated that the work would not suit you.” 

“ But I can suit myself to the work. I never break 
a bargain, and if this is part of my duty I will do 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


65 


It, no matter how offensive it may prove,” Donald 
answered, with a decided ring in his quiet voice. 

“ It is well you understand your place so thor- 
oughly,” Mr. Thayer said, a little severely. “ I 
trust you will keep it without being reminded of 
what is expected of you so frequently.” 

“ I am to obey this fellow, then, whenever he sees 
fit to command me?” Donald inquired, with a slight 
inclination of his head in the direction of young 
Eadie. 

Gerald's eyes flashed indignantly, and an angry 
flush dyed his dark face, but before he could speak 
Mr. Thayer answered with a touch of reproof in his 
voice, “That fellow is junior partner in this firm, and 
hereafter when you have occasion to address him dis- 
tinguish him as Mr. Eadie.” 

“I will try to remember the name,” Donald 
returned, with a low bow and a peculiar stress 
of voice that no one but Eadie understood. 

“Where shall I find your perfume-box, Mr. Eadie?” 
he continued, turning his fine eyes searchingly upon 
Gerald. 

“ Do you usually look for such articles in people’s 
faces?” retorted the young man, with a frown and an 
impatient gesture. 

Without replying Donald took charge of the spit- 
toon, and with the dignity of a j udge walked away to 
dispose of its contents. A suppressed cheer from the 
clerks near at hand was promptly checked by Mr. 
Thayer’s finger of warning. Gerald bit his lip with 
vexation. He was aware that Donald had the best 
of it, and he was provoke d at his own impatience that 
had caused him to act so childishly. 

“ Can I do any thing further for your comfort, Mr. 


66 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


Eadie?” Donald inquired, as he replaced the object 
of contention. 

“ HI pay you back for this impudence, you dog,” 
Gerald snarled from between his teeth. “ An Eadie 
never forgets an insult — never. You will repent this 
day, you mean cur. If Mr. Thayer had not been 
present I would have discharged you on the spoV 
you scamp. A beggarly wretch ! and you dared raise 
a laugh at my expense.” 

“To whom are you indebted for your place of 
trust to-day? Who suffered for your crime in the 
old school-days? You were not the coward who 
stood quietly by and allowed that same beggarly 
wretch to be sent home in disgrace, I suppose?” 

“Leave my presence, you vagabond,” growled 
Gerald, in a suppressed voice. “Kepeat that slander 
here and I will have you in prison in less than an 
hour.” 

“ It is the truth and you dare not deny it,” Donald 
insisted. “ Shall I repeat the story of your selfish- 
ness; ah, worse — cruelty?” 

“ Who would believe the story of a tramp refuted 
by the wealthy Gerald Eadie?” he sneered. “Even 
if you could establish your tale I am able to buy both 
judge and jury.” 

“You seem to put a very low estimate upon the 
morals of your city,” Donald returned, as he went 
back to his work. 

“ What brought him here ? I must get rid of him 
at any cost,” Gerald soliloquized. “ I would buy him 
off, but he would annihilate me with a look from 
those great eyes if I would mention such a thing. 

I will not provoke his curse, but fair or foul he shall 
not stay here to tantalize me. Of course, he did me 


AN OLD A CQ UAINTAN^ E. 


67 


a kindness once, but that idiot Cousin Dick had to 
give us all away, and I always thought that Donald 
had a hand in getting a confession out of Dick. It 
would not be like him either,” he admitted. • 

About three weeks after Donald had been employed 
by Mr. Thayer a pale, rough-looking man, closely 
bundled about, the %eck, came into the basement 
where he was at work, and said, in a strangely 
muffled voice : 

“ Young man, do you know that you are a mur- 
derer?” 

At first Donald thought the man was demented, 
and paid little attention to what he was saying; but 
as he kept repeating, “ I say you are a murderer ; do 
you not hear me?” Donald turned upon him and 
fiercely demanded, “Whom did I kill?” 

“ My wife and children,” the man returned, excit- 
edly. “You took my place in this store — you a fine 
gintleman with plenty o’ book-learnin’ took poor 
Wolf's place, and his wife and children are starvin'. 
There is not a bite in the house this mornin', and for 
three full days we've had but a peck o’ corn-meal 
and a few 'taters.” 

“I know nothing about it, my good man,” said 
Donald, with misty eyes. “ I was told that the porter 
liad left, and I accepted the situation until something 
better would turn up. But why did you leave?” 

“ I was sick, and the children was sick, and Biddy, 
poor soul, sint word to the boss, but he says niver a 
word did he git at all, at all.” 

“ I'll not stand in your way, my man. If Mr. 
Thayer is willing to take you back, I have no objec- 
tions to your going to work immediately,” Donald 
answered. 


63 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


“Och! may the holy Virgin bless your swate soul, 
sir; but what will become of you, sir?” cried the 
grateful Wolf. 

“ I’ll look out for myself, and as I have been the 
innocent cause of your suffering, I will divide what 
little I have with you,” he said, taking three crisp 
one dollar bills from his slim pocket-book, and forc- 
ing them into the brawny hands of the Irishman. 
“ Take that and use it for your family. It will keep 
starvation from your door for a few days.” 

“ I can’t take your money, sir, not I,” returned 
Wolf, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. 

“ It really belongs to you, as I unwittingly cheated 
you out of your situation. I am desirous of making 
restitution, so far as I am able. Why did you not 
come to me sooner? If you hsd made known your 
case the first time I saw you here there would have 
been no occasion for your destitute condition to day.” 

“It’s no fault o’ your’u, and none but a born gin- 
tleman would have acted as ye have done. I’ll pay 
ye back ivery cint, or my name is not Patrick Wolf.” 

“ Xever mind about that. Go and get your break- 
fast and then come back to w r ork.” 

“ And this is the price of my bread and butter,” 
Donald muttered as the man went out. “ A family 
starving to make room for me. I wonder if every 
place in the world is gained by displacing the more 
rightful owmer. 

Before Mr. Thayer had got settled to business that 
morning, he was interrupted by a decided knock. 

“Well,” he said impatiently, as the new porter 
entered. 

“ I wish to return the place I now occupy to your 
former porter,” he explained. 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 


69 


“Do the boys make it too warm for you?” the 
merchant asked, with a smile. 

“ I can endure their slurs, but not the thought that 
I am keeping a family out of its daily bread,” Donald 
answered, quickly. 

“O, ho! Pat has been interviewing you, I see. 
You must be faint-hearted to believe all the tales 
of woe that you hear. Business can’t wait a week 
or two to see whether a man is going to die of a 
fever or not,” laughed Mr. Thayer, uneasily. “A 
conscience is an inconvenient thing to have some 
times.” 

“ This man did not succumb to the fever it seems, 
but there is much danger of a local famine in his 
neighborhood just at present if I do not step out of 
his way. Why did you not tell me about him a week 
or two ago? ” 

“Business is business, young man, and our new 
porter suited us quite as well as he suited himself 
to his business,” Mr. Thayer remarked, with a dry 
laugh. 

“You will take him back?” Donald inquired, color- 
ing at the gentleman’s quotation of his own words. 

“ I have nothing against Pat, but what will you 
do?” asked he. 

“I’ll find something to keep me out of mischief, 
never fear,’* Donald answered. 

“ Really, I do not care about losing you. Not 
many fellows are so faithful in t mall things as you 
have proven yourself to be,” said Mr. Thayer. “ Let 
me see! Can you write?” 

“A little,” responded Donald, with a grim smile. 

“Let me see a sample.” returned Mr. Thayer, 
pushing pen and paper toward him. 


70 


IN SEAR II OF A HOME. 


Donald wrote a few lines in his rapid, elegant style, 
while his employer looked on in blank amazement. 
When he had satisfied himself, he asked, “ Where 
did you learn to write so fluently, my boy ? ” 

‘‘I picked it up by the way,” Donald answered, 
with a sparkle of fun in his dark eyes. 

“ Did you pick up any ideas about figures as you 
passed along?” inquired the merchant. 

“A few,” Donald replied, with an innocent air. 

“You understand book-keeping too, I presume,” 
continued Mr. Thayer, a little inclined to be ironical. 

“I flatter myself that I do,” answered Donald, 
with a little tremor in his voice. 

A prolonged whistle from Mr. Thayer indicated his 
surprise. “ What on earth is there that you can’t do? 
If you were not so boyish-looking I would take you 
for an absconding bank cashier.” 

Donald colored and bit his lip with vexation. The 
words troubled him. He wondered what Mr. Thayer 
would say if he were to tell him why he left his last 
place, and how he came to be thrown penniless upon 
the world. 

Noticing the cloud upon the young man’s face, the 
merchant tried to soften the eflects of his words by 
saying : 

“Never mind my jesting. I meant no offence, I 
assure you. We are in need of an assistant-book- 
keeper, and if old Norris will tolerate your bright 
eyes and sharp tongue I’ve a mind to give you a 
trial. Come along and we will sound him on the 
subject,” he said, as he ushered his protege into the 
presence of that august personage. 

The old book-keeper settled his glasses and scrutin- 
ized the newcomer carefully ; them, without a word, 


71 


AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE^ 

he pushed a ledger toward him, and directing him 
transfer several pages to another book, he returned 
his own work and gave him no further notice. 





$ B 


CHAPTER XL 

PROMOTED. ' 


^ *^HEN Donald was installed assistant 
\A/ book-keeper it was with the understanding 

^ ^ that in busy seasons he was to make him- 
self useful in rendering service wherever it w T as most 
needed. 

Eadie was very much dissatisfied v ith Mr. Thayer’s 
arrangement, but the position he occupied was subor- 
dinate, and altogether dependent upon the whim of 
hi3 Uncle, who was an important member of the 
firm. Fearing that Donald might give him trouble, 
he wisely concluded to treat him a little more cour- 
teously, although nothing could have induced him to 
acknowledge that he had wronged him. 

As the store was closed every evening promptly at 
seven o’clock, Donald had the long evenings to him- 
self. These he spent in close study, scarcely ever 
leaving his room after entering it, when his day’s 
work was over. 

Now that he was comfortably situated, he deter- 
mined to let no more time pass without entering 
upon the work he had decided to undertake. He 
had been a close student all his life, and the last 
few years of schooling to which he had been subjected 
had served to make him ve r y self-reliant, as well as 
persevering. For some time he had kept his eye 
steadily upon the legal profession, and since his 

72 


PROMOTED . 


73 

sojourn in the city, he had heard so much in praise 
of Judge Gibbons’ ability that he determined, if pos- 
sible, to secure him for an instructor. One evening, 
when business was duller than usual, he succeeded 
in obtaining an extra hour in which to consult the 
renowned Judge. Arranging his toilet with great 
care, he started forth on his long walk flushed with 
bright expectations. A pompous waitef answered his 
ring, and conducted him into the presence of the 
great man. Looking up from a table covered with 
legal-looking papers, Mr. Gibbons motioned him to 
a seat by the glowing wood-fire, and went on with 
his rapid writing. In the interval that elapsed 
before he finished, Donald had time to study him 
unobserved. 

His clothes, though of the best material, were 
poorly fitting, and his dark hair, now plentifully 
sprinkled with silver, was combed straight back 
from his broad, intellectual forehead. His features 
were irregular and strongly marked, the nose being 
quite prominent — a characteristic not often wanting 
in decided natures. 

Donald was growing somewhat impatient before 
the lawyer pushed his papers from him, shoved his 
glasses high up on his forehead, and said, “Well, my 
lad, what can I do for you to-day ?” 

The cheery voice and kindly look of ihe deep-set 
gray eyes reassured Donald, and in a few well-chosen 
words he made known his business. 

The Judge asked him several questions regarding 
his attainments and prospects, and then, without 
one unnecessary word, arranged for his recitations. 
Immediately he returned to his papers, merely stop- 


u 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


ping his pen long enough to bid his caller good 
evening. 

“ So this is the way he has gained his reputation — 
making every moment count — and into every minute 
crowding its own work.” 

Procuring the necessary books, Donald determined 
to imitate his example by letting no more precious 
time run to waste. So, while others were spending 
their nights in frivolous amusements, he was found 
burning the midnight oil in order to gain that knowl- 
edge for which his soul hungered. Besides the books 
that yielded him so much pleasure, his sharp experi- 
ence in the city was teaching him many new lessons. 
In the store, at the counting-desk, at the table — every- 
where he was gathering up material that was going 
into the grand life he was building for the future. 

One day after Donald had shown to inexperienced 
customers goods which he could not conscientiously 
recommend, Eadie remarked in a taunting voice : 

“ I thought your business here was to sell goods — 
not to depreciate them, sir. I was astonished at your 
display of the lack of mercantile ingenuity.” 

“What interpretation do you expect me to put 
upon your words?” asked Donald. 

“ Do nothing but answer questions,” Eadie explained. 
“ It is not necessary to- point out defects in articles 
under exhibition.” 

“ I cannot vouch for goods that are really useless. 
If I am to do business for you it must be an honest, 
upright business,” Donald replied. 

“If you work for me, sir, you will be obliged to 
perform that work according to my wishes. I will 
not permit you to bring your outrageous ideas of 


PROMOTED. 


75 


honesty into the labor that I require at your hands,” 
sneered Eadie. 

“If you possessed a little of that common honesty 
that should exist in all business transactions it would 
be better both for yourself and your customers, 
returned Donald. “If there is any thing in the 
world that I despise it is hypocrisy.”^ 

“ You canting church-goers are the most consum- 
mate hypocrites I know,” was Eadie’s disdainful 

answer. . 

“I go to church simply because I promised my 
mother, when she was dying, that I would do so, 
and I read my Bible regularly for the same reason, 
said Donald. 

“ And you don’t believe in either?” 

“ I believe my mother was good and true, and she 
believed in the Bible, but you rich folks who have 
shut the doors of your elegant churches against your 
poor brethren have almost made an infidel of me. 

“How, or in what manner, have our doors been 
closed against you?” urged Eadie. 

« The doors of your pews have, at least,” answered 

Donald. 

“ I think if you had not been so lofty you would 
have observed that there were plenty of empty seats 
in the rogues’ corner — reserved for just such persons 
as you. You know birds of a feather are said to flock 
together.” 

“ Well, that is not the kiad of a religion that my 
mother had, and I like lier’s best,” Donald said in the 
tender voice that seemed to come naturally when he 
spoke of his mother. 

“ It seems to me that very few people enjoy the 
Christianity they profess now-adays,” admitted Eadie. 


76 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


“ Perhaps it is their own fault,” said Donald. “ If 
I pretended to be a Christian I w T ould tiy to carry it 
into my every-day life, so as to get some comfort out 
of it, but while there are two religions — one for the 
* rich and one for the poor — I do not wish to take any 
stock in it.” 

Somehow the conversation had drifted into a dif- 
ferent channel from that in which it had begun, and 
the two young men for once had found a subject upon 
which they could agree. Reared in Christian homes, 
they had both drifted far away from the God of their 
childhood, and it seemed to do them good to talk over 
the shortcomings of the people of God. 



CHAPTER XII. 

DICK’S JOURNEY. 

^S>HEls T Dick Jewell applied to his Cousin 
\\T Donald for assistance he really intended 
V V to make an effort to mend his life. For 
two years ho had been drifting about without a 
home* — feeding upon husks, and he was tired of 
such an existence. If he could have succeeded 
in procuring a job of week, he would not have 
presented himself at the bank for the purpose of 
intercepting Donald that morning. The first year 
after his banishment Aunt Pen had, for the sake 
of the family name, furnished money to keep him out 
of the woik-house on several occasions, but the last 
time she had given him aid, she had warned him 
never to come back to her for help again, and 
knowing that she was a woman ot her word, he 
had not ventured to appeal to her since. A few 
times Christine had given him a portion of her 
small allowance, but oftener the money that bought 
his bread and butter came directly from Donald’s 
pocket. Dick claimed to be a gentleman and alto- 
gether above work, but when in absolute want he 
usually managed to obtain some little job by which 
he earned enough to keep soul and body together. 

As I have said, he was in earnest this wintry 
morning, and in spite of Aunt Pen’s warning would 

77 


78 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


have had the impudence to venture into her presence 
and plead his case had not Donald assured him that 
his visit would be worse than useless. In stating his 
case to his Cousin, he had no expectation of receiving 
more than sufficient to pay his fare to some neigh- 
boring town. It was Donald’s own sympathy that 
prompted him to rig the wanderer out in a respect- 
able suit, and sent him off to a Western town, where 
he would have some chance of breaking away from 
his bad associates. 

It was not a guilty conscience that sent Dick 
around the corner so quickly in order to avoid the 
scrutiny of the two pair of eyes that were watching 
him from the bank window. The fact was, it had 
been so long since he had worn decent clothes that 
he felt a little uncomfortable in his new suit, and 
wished to get off before people began to question 
him about his changed appearance. Half an hour 
later he was en route for a prairie city, altogether 
ignorant of the trouble into which he had innocently 
plunged his self-sacrificing Cousin. 

Some distance beyond Chicago a fierce snow-storm 
swept down from the lakes, delaying the train and 
causing some suffering and a great deal of grumb- 
ling among the passengers. At last the engine gave 
out and the train came to a standstill, fortunately, 
within a few rods of a village. There were but few 
passengers in the coaches, and most of them preferred 
their cozy quarters to the disagreeable half-mile’s 
tramp through the snow-drifts to the station. 

Dick was thoroughly tired out, and was feeling a 
little blue, and as soon as he found out that the train 
was snow-bound determined to make his way to the 
depot, hoping to find there a warm lunch, and per- 


DICK'S JOURNEY. 


79 


haps something else more stimulating. When he 
reached his destination the dismal appearance of 
the place took away his appetite, so instead of hunt- 
ing up something to eat or drink, he walked into the 
waiting-room, and with his hat pulled half over his 
eyes sat down sullenly by the stove. m he fire was 
burning with a dull glow, and what few passengers 
were scattered around were either asleep or miserably 
stupid. 

“ What bad taste that pert-looking miss in brown 
exhibits,” was Dick’s inward comment, as his eyea 
rested upon a fair young girl dressed in a rich silk. 
“ She does not look as though she had a single idea 
beyond dress,” and as he watched the fluttering bit 
of silk and ribbon opposite him, Dick’s speaking face 
betrayed contempt and conscious superiority. As he 
turned his eyes in the opposite direction he observed 
that the restless little creature had attracted the atten- 
tion of another pair of eyes that seemed to be dissect- 
ing her with less mercy than he had shown. This 
self-appointed critic was a young lady too, and her 
faultlessly neat and lady-like travelling suit con- 
trasted most favorably with the little blonde’s more 
showy attire. The brunette possessed a pretty face 
too, an^ she was not ignorant of her fine appearance 
either, Dick guessed, as from beneath the brim of his 
hat he watched her little peeps into the mirror oppo- 
site. She could get a full view of nerself, and from 
her satisfied air he knew that she had no criticisms 
t > offer — that in her opinion, at least, every thing,, 
from the dainty veil that fluttered over her hat to the 
shining tips of her walking boots, was becoming. 

At length this very proper young lady settled back 
in her seat and closed her eyes as it excessively bored 


IN SEAr'H of a home. 


so 

with the stupidity of her fellow-travellers. Two mid- 
dle-aged ladies, spinsters, occupied the seat next to 
her, but they were as prim and stiff as herself, and 
did not shock her ideas of propriety by presuming to 
address her without first having been regularly intro- 
duced. 

Besides these there were ten or a dozen other people 
in the waiting-room, each one, apparently, obvious 
of his neighbor’s existence. It makes men, yes and 
women too, selfish to travel, and to miss a train or 
be obliged to wait an hour or two at a dingy station, 
with all the avenues of escape blockaded with snow, 
makes them sullenly selfish, and forgetful of the com- 
forts of others. 

A short time after Dick had completed a survey of 
the inmates of the station an old woman, accompanied 
by a middle aged man, came hurrying in, as if afraid 
of missing the train. The ticket-office was closed, 
and after drumming on the window a time or two 
without receiving an answer, the man said: — “I 
reckon I will be obliged to go, mother, and leave 
you to get your own ticket.” 

“ Yes, David, thee had best get back. The storm 
is increasin’, and thee has a long way to go before 
dark.” 

“Well, then, good-by,” he said, stretching out his 
horny hand for a farewell shake. “Take good keer 
<f yourself, and write us a line as soon as you are 
settled.” 

“ I will, David, and thee must not forget to answer,” 
was the reply. 

“ I am not much of a scribe, mother, but Elizabeth 
Ann is a first-rate writer and thinks nothin’ of scrib- 


DICK'S JOURNEY. 


81 


bling off a letter,” said the man, as he went out into 
the storm again. 

“ Poor David ! What a disagreeable ride he has 
before him. I do hope he’ll not get bewildered and 
lose his way,” said the old woman, addressing the 
self-complacent figure in the trim travelling suit. 

There was a haughty expression on the young girl’s 
face, but her lips framed no response to the wish of 
the speaker. The lonely old woman made a few more 
attempts to draw her silent sisters into conversation, 
but receiving only monosyllables for answers she went 
to the ticket-office, and after considerable difficulty 
succeeded in attracting the attention of the agent. 

“I want a ticket, sir,” she said, drawing out her 
old-fashioned knit-purse. ‘*1 am going to Morrow, 
and I do not want the train to go off and leave me.” 

“ There is not much danger of it doing that while 
it remains snow-bound,” was the dry reply. 

“ I reckon not, but I may as well be ready. Please 
give me a ticket to go to Morrow.” 

“ To-morrow! What’s the use in getting it until 
the right time?” replied the young man, in a jesting 
manner. “ Never mind the ticket for the present.” 

“ How long will it be till the train is ready to go? ” 
inquired the old woman, watching him keenly. 

“How can I tell while the snow comes down so 
rapidly? I am sure it will not go until an engine 
comes, and that may be in an hour, or not to night.” 

“ Well, I guess I’ll get my ticket, and it will be off 
my mind,” a little nervously. 

“You said you were going to-morrow, and that 
does not come for twenty-four hours,” returned the 
agent, winking slyly at some of the boys in the office. 


11 V SEARCH OF A HOME , 


“ Didn’t thee tell me that the train might be along 
in an hour?” 

“ That’s to-day’s train, ma’am. To-morrow’s wont 
go till the day comes.” 

“Then thi3 train don’t stop at Morrow? David 
was sure it did, and now I’ll have to stay all night in 
the station.” 

While the old woman was speaking there was a 
little rustle of silk and velvet in the direction of the 
brown-robed figure. Then with an indignant flash 
of the blue eyes their owner sprang to her feet and 
crossed over to the ticket window where the parley 
was going on. 

“ Give this lady her ticket at once,” she demanded. 
“ Why do you keep her waiting so long?” 

“ 0 ! she said she was going to-morrow, and what’s 
the use of her buying the bit of paste-board so long 
before she wants it. Might lose it, you see, miss,” 
retorted the boy, who was not the regular ticket 
agent. 

“ You understood her very well, and ifi you do not 
wait upon her properly I’ll see that you are reported 
to those whose business it is to look after the comfort 
of the travelling public.” 

“ I was only in fun, ma’am. I did not mean to be 
rude,” explained the youth, as he handed out the 
ticket, 

“People are generally judged by what they do 
instead of what they mean,” was the young girl’s 
reply, as she led her charge to a seat by the fire. 
“Sit down and warm yourself. You are shivering,” 
she said, as she raked the ashes out of the stove, and 
sent a bright blaze dancing up the long, rusty pipe. 

“ There is something besides dress in her head after 


DICM'S JOURNEY. 


83 


all,” said Dick to himself, as with an admiring gxance 
he watched the “ little idiot’s” quick, graceful move- 
ments. To be sure he did not know her name, but 
already he was conscious that the one he had bestowed 
upon her was inappropriate. 

When the dear old woman was made as comfort- 
able as the circumstances of the case would permit, 
the little bundle of silk and inconsistency stepped out 
on the slushy platform, and three minutes later the 
chilly, uncared-for woman was gazing into the depths 
of a fragrant cup of tea.” 

“ Drink it,” urged the young creature by her side. 
“ It will warm you up, and here are some nice warm 
rolls that will go with it exactly,” laying the tempt- 
ing lunch in her lap. 

“ Thank thee, thank thee, my dear. I am only a 
poor, old, ignorant woman and cannot reward thee 
for thy kindness, but God will not forget about all 
that thee has done for me.” 

“ Do not speak about this little thing. I have only 
done for you what I would want some other girl to 
do for my grandmother were she in such a lonely 
condition,” was the quick response. 

“Are you travelling alone, madam?” inquired a 
gentleman on the opposite side of the stove. 

“Yes, sir! You see I have been making my home 
with my son David since Joseph died, but David’s 
family has grown to be so large that he has no room 
for me, and I am going to live with my daughter 
Malinda. Like as not, she wont want to be bothered 
with me either; then I’ll be packed off to John’s, or 
Kate’s, or Nancy’s for awhile,” and the tears rolled 
down the old woman’s cheeks while she told her sad 
story. 


84 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


“Such a shame,” muttered Dick, half under his 
breath. 

“ Indeed, it is,” said the gentleman, “ They ought 
rather to be quarrelling about who could give you the 
warmest corner.” 

“ Thee sees things are different now. One mother 
can take care of half a dozen boys and girls when 
they are little, but they all think it a hardship to 
have her to look after when she is old.” 

“It’s too much the case, I know, but that don’t 
make it. right, and those children who try to shift 
the responsibilities of aged parents unto the shoulders 
of strangers will surely miss a blessing,” was the gen- 
tleman’s response. 



CHAPTER XIII ; 

^LV INCIDENT AND ITS SEQUEL. 

J UST at that moment the door was pushed 
open, and a young-looking man came in. 
With a bow and a smile, he crossed over 
to the other side of the room and put some papers 
and tracts in the racks that had been placed there for 
that purpose. Then turning to the agent he explained, 
lightly: 

“ Mother could not get out this cold afternoon, so 
she delegated me to bring some spiritual nourishment 
to the hungry sinners who might stand in need of it.” 

“ All right, Jack,” laughed the agent, “ but if this 
storm keeps increasing, I imagine these snow-bound 
pilgrims will stand in need of something more sub- 
stantial before they get their breakfast.” 

“Very well! I have fulfilled my part of the con- 
tract,” replied the young man. “N o, I have not, 
either,” he corrected, “for mother charged me to 
tack one of those tracts to the wall. This is it,” 
he continued, taking a one-page leaflet from the 
wall-pocket, and securing it in a conspicuous place. 
“There!” he exclaimed, returning the tack-hammer to 
his basket. “That is a nice little tract. Perhaps, 
while you are waiting you can read it, and some of 
the good papers over there as well,” with a nod in the 
direction of the paper rack. 


85 


I 


86 IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 

“ What a queer idea,” thought Dick, as he watched 
the bright face pass out into the storm again. “ What 
does he care for tracts? Some kind ladies have sent 
them the supply no doubt.” 

“ I’d like dreadful well to hear it,” an old gentle- 
man said, nodding his gray head in the direction of 
the fluttering tract, “but I’ve packed up my specs 
and might just as well have left my eyes behind as 
far as readin’ goes. You don’t look as if you’d need 
glasses for awhile, my dear,” he added, glancing 
towards the self-complacent young lady in the corner. 

An impatient shrug of the shoulder was all the 
answer he received, though under her breath she 
really did mutter, “Hateful old man! If you want 
it read unpack your specs and use them yourself.” 

After a few minutes’ silence the little maiden whom 
Dick had denominated brainless, a mere butterfly of 
fashion, came to the rescue by saying in a low, sweet 
voice, “ If you would really like to hear it, sir, I will 
read it for you.” 

“ I’d be mighty glad to hear it, if it is not askin’ 
too much. I’m tired out, havin’ travelled over three 
hundred miles this week, and a bit o’ good readin’ 
would ' rest me wonderfully,” and the wrinkled, 
homely face lighted up with a glad smile as it 
was turned toward the dainty rosebud of a maiden. 

With an added flush in her cheeks, the young girl 
crossed over to where the tract was hung, and in the 
stillness that settled over the listeners, she read in a 
clear voice: 

“Dear Friend: — In Jesus’ name I come to you 
with a very important question, and ‘ In His Name’ 
I hope you will answer it truthfully. Arc you a 
Christian? If you are, what have you done for him 


AN INCIDENT AND ITS SEQUEL . 87 

to-day ? Has any one been any happier or better for 
your having lived to-day? In His Name have you 
been doing wee bits of work by the wayside? Have 
you lived Christ to-day — lived so as to recommend 
him to those who know him not? If death should 
come to you to-night, are you ready to appear in his 
presence? What would your record be if called to 
give in your account before the morrow’s sun should 
rise? In Hi3 Name look out for opportunities to help 
your brothers and sisters, who are struggling and 
toiling along their journey heavenward. What have 
you done for Jesus to-day? What are you doing 
now? 

“If you are not a Christian, then the question is still 
more weighty and the answer more important. Listen, 
while I repeat it once more. Are you a Christian? 
If not, why? When will you be? Shall ii be the 
next week, or the next month, or the next year, or 
will it be at some date away in the future too remote 
to be set just at present? Ah, my dear friend, delays 
are dangerous, and for you there may be no to-morrow 
— for you it may be written, Thou fool! this night 
shall thy soul be required of thee. 

“Just now is all the time that God has given you, 
and just now is the only sure time you will have to 
prepare for death. Another hour and it may be too 
late. Come to Jesus — now. 

“ Now h the accepted time, and now is the day of 
salvation.” 

As the young reader returned to her seat with the 
color on her cheeks deepened into a warm crimson 
the old gentleman said : 

“ Thank you, my dear. No matter what the rest 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


R 8 

of us have been doin’, you have been pickin’ up 4 wee 
bits’ of work by the wayside.” 

“ It is very little, so very little that I can do for 
Him,” replied the youug girl, in a quivering voice. 

“God looks on it in a very different lighr, my dear 
child,” said the old friend she had comforted a short 
time previous. 44 Don’t thee mind that it was him 
who said, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one 
of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it 
unto me?’” 

“And I am one of the very lea.-*t of these little 
ones,” the answer came in a very weak, but distinct,, 
voice. 

“And you have showed kindness unto other weak, 
little ones,” responded the old man, as he drew his 
coarse sleeve across his wet eyes. 

It was at this moment that the very proper young 
lady laid aside her dignity so far as to cross the long 
room and really grasp that 44 ridiculous” mite of flesh 
and blood by the hand. Ey way of explanation, she 
pointed to the little Maltese cross and purple ribbon 
on her breast, saying : — 44 You see we are sisters, and 
I think — yes, I pride myself, that at a single guess, 
I could name the circle of 4 The King’s Daughters’ to 
which you belong.” 

“Perhaps you can — at least, I would not be sur- 
prised if you would hit it exactly; but I am very 
poor at guessing and would never chance upon the 
name of the Ten you represent,” returned the owner 
of the sweet voice, with a silvery laugh. 

“I do not pretend to be a good guesser; but from 
your actions here to-day I would say at once that you 
belong to the 4 Ministering Ten.’ You know — ‘That 
by their fruits ye shall know them.’ ” 


AN INCIDENT AND ITS SEQUEL. 89 

“ Then the fruit that I am bearing must be mis- 
leading, for lam a member of the ‘Home-making 
Ten.’ You see my two older sisters belong to more 
important branches of the league, but as I am not out 
of school yet, we all thought that it would be better 
for me to just take up the little duties that lie around 
home. So all that I am obliged to do is to try to 
make the home-people happy and contented.” 

“ A pretty big undertaking, I should say, if they 
are all as thoroughly human as most households. I 
belong to the ‘Singing Ten/ and if I am a judge my 
position is less difficult to fill than yours. The little 
deeds of love that you have been performing so 
patiently here to-day led me to suppose that you 
were one of the ‘Ministering Ten/ and that you 
were carrying out the works of the sisterhood by 
doing whatever your hands find to do.” 

‘ That is the spirit I would like to carry into every- 
day life, but I am afraid I do not ‘ lend a hand’ half 
as often as I might, seeing I am one cf the ‘ King’s 
Daughters/ ” 

“ I suppose that we should all be on the lookout 
for chances to work ‘ In His Name/ but I am free to 
confess* that I have been altogether absorbed in the • 
duties belonging to my own ‘Ten/ We have given 
quite a number of parlor concerts for the benefit of 
charitable institutions, and on several occasions we 
have furnished the music for the prison-service in 
connection with the city mission.” 

“It must be a delightful experience to give so 
much pleasure to others, but while I am a school- 
girl I must be content to fill the narrow sphere 
allotted to me.” 

“ I wonder which of the two contributes the more 


90 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


largely to the pleasure of the people with whom they 
come in contact/’ mused Dick with furtive glances at 
the two pretty faces so bright and earnest, yet' so very 
different. “ A woman with a sweet voice may accom- 
plish wonders, but sweet ways and a hand always 
ready to help over hard places, be they ever so trif- 
ing, will bring rest and peace when the notes of the 
sweet singer would jar discordantly upon the troubled 
ear.” 

Dick might have kept up his comparison much 
longer had not the agent looked in to say that the 
engine had arrived at last, and that the train would 
be ready to start in ten minutes. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

AN ACCIDENT.. 


m "IRST the train ran heavily, and the snow- 



shovels were kept in constant play, but a 


few miles west of the point where the 


engine had given out the storm had been less severe, 
and better speed was made. Most of the travellers 
were through passengers, and as soon as night came 
on wrapped themselves up as comfortably as possi- 
ble, and in spite of the howling storm without tried 
to forget their disappointment in sleep. 

A fretful baby near the front kept a fidgety old 
man in goggles in constant search of new epithets 
by which to designate his horror of babies in general, 
and this one in particular, while two young ladies, 
across the aisle from Dick, occasionally stopped their 
flow of small-talk long enough to fling invectives 
alternately at the fussy old man and the baby’s poor, 
tired mother. 

Dick’s vagrancy had not destroyed his keen sym- 
pathy for others, and pity for the unfortunate child 
set him to rummaging in his pockets for something 
to amuse the feverish little thing. The large, sweet 
orange which he produced proved very grateful to the 
little one's hot gums; and much to the comfort of the 
weary mother, as well as that of the grumbling old 
man and inconsiderate young ladies, the troublesome 
little fellow was soon fast asleep. 


91 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


9 

After finding her old lady a comfortable seat, the 
bright little being who belonged only to the “ Home- 
making Ten” shook out her skirts and took a seat 
directly in front of her charge. 

“ Please, can I sit down by your side for awhile?” 
asked the member of the “ Singing Ten.” “ I would 
like to have a congenial companion during the bal- 
ance of the journey, and as we are ticketed for the 
same point we might as well keep together.” 

Dick laughed — a little mccking laugh — all to him- 
self, of course. He hated shams, and this self-pos- 
sessed young lady’s sudden appreciation of the girl 
she had criticised so freely an hour previous angered 
him. He was aware that he had been guilty of the 
same unkindness, but he was not a woman, neither 
was he fussy over the pretty bit of ffesh and blood 
that in spite of her oddities interested him more than 
he would like to have acknowledged. 

An hour later nearly all the passengers in the 
coach had yielded to drowsiness, and for several 
hours, while the train plunged along over the prai- 
ries, they slept as securely as if they were not already 
within the shadow of a great calamity. Just before 
the train rushed headlong into the death-trap awaiting 
it, a very pathetic incident occurred in the rear car, 
where our acquaintances of the station were quietly 
sitting. It was a very sad as well as striking episode, 
and one that made a life-long impression on poor 
Dick Jewell. It began about midnight with the 
entrance of a bridal party composed of bride and 
groom and two couple of their gay attendants. In 
order that the party might sit together Dick gave up 
his seat to the young man and his bride. As it was 
afterwards shown, this courtesy saved his life, for the 


AN ACCIDENT. 


93 


young couple were both killed. These gay people 
were concert singers, and seemed as jolly and full 
of fun as if the noith wind were not whistling dis- 
mally through every crack and crevice of the train. 
They sang, and laughed, and told stories, and antich 
pated the pleasure of the trip until quite late. About 
the time they were settling down for an hour’s nap 
one of the gentlemen requested the youug bride to 
sing “ Sweet Hour of Prayer.” Something iu the 
desire to sleep and rest recalled the sweet old song. 
The young woman sung and all listened while the 
trai$ sped on. As the little gleam of fiendish fire 
that was to end the song appeared far down the 
track their voices swelled in : 

“Yet in my dreams I’d be 
Nearer, my God, to thee.” 

The speed of the train increased down the grade, 
and other voices joined in the familiar hymn, as again 
full and clear the song rolled forth : 

“There let the way appear, 

Steps into heaven.” 

The way was already in sight, but had they known 
it the next refrain would not have been sung with so 
much spirit : 

“All that thou sendest me, 

In mercy given.” 

And then with but a moment of life left for each, 
even when poor Ed Marling’s hand was giving its 
last desperate wrench to the throttle of his engine 
the singers sang to their God, who seemed not to 
be holding them in the hollow of his hand: 

“Angels to beckon me, 

Nearer, my God, to thee.” 


94 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


Enough! The song was finished, and with it ended 
the lives of the singers. The engine struck the frail 
bridge, with its burning supports, and with it went 
down into the narrow channel. The car containing 
the bridal party crashed like a bolt of Jove through 
the two cars in front of it, killing and grinding as a foot 
tramples a worm. In the same instant another car 
crashed through it, and the singers, with many others, 
were numbered with the dead. Perhaps, the song 
began on earth was finished when passing through 
the valley of shadows. Who can tell but that each 
of those sweet singers could in death sing : 

“Or if, on joyful wings 
Cleaving the sky, 

Sun, moon and stars forget, 

Upward I fly, 

Still all my song shall be, 

Nearer, my God, to thee, 

Nearer to thee?” 

For a moment after the deadening crash all was 
still ; then the piercing screams of the wounded and 
dying passengers filled the air. 

A kind hand lifted a heavy plank that had pinned 
Dick to the floor, and without further help he man- 
aged to crawl out of the window near him. Turning 
immediately to render needed aid to others, he was 
reminded by a sharp pain in the arm that he had not 
escaped altogether. Carrying his broken member by 
his side, he did much good service among the sufferers. 

The fussy old man was crushed so as to be almost 
unrecognizable, while the peevish little baby lay white 
and limp on the frozen ground, and the poor mother’s 
arms would in all the long future ache only with their 
own emptiness. The two young ladies dropped tears 


ACCIDENT. 


95 


of pity over the lone mother’s woe, but it was Dick* 
wild Dick Jewell, who spoke such tender words of 
sympathy in her ear, 

“Will not some one help us?” came in clear, dis- 
tinct words from the rear end of the car, from which 
Dick bad just been released. 

Dick knew that voice — it had been ringing in his 
ears ever since those awful questions had been pro- 
pounded. He had' not thought of answering them 
then, but now he could say, “ I am not a Christian, 
but since I have been standing face to face with death 
I want to be.” 

Soon brave men had liberated the owner of that 
voice, and those imprisoned with her. She was 
injured about the shoulders slightly, and the young 
lady who occupied the seat with her was suffering 
with a crushed foot. The old man for whom she 
had read the tract escaped without a scratch, while 
the dear old woman, who was on the way to her 
daughter’s, had ended her journey. Her children 
would never have occasion to quarrel over her again 
— for she had found rest-eternal in the heavens. 

“Why do you work altogether with your left 
arm?” asked the blue-eyed, brown-robed girl after 
watching Dick’s heroic efforts at assistance. 

“I sustained some injury while we were cramped 
up in that uncomfortable jam, and unfortunately my 
best arm is crippled,” he replied. 

“ Then you should not risk so much in your efforts 
to assist others,” she answered. 

An hour later Dick came back to the little girl 
who had succeeded in interesting him, and as they 
stood and gazed upon the mournful scene, looking 
from the white upturned faces among the snow to 


.96 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


the bright stars that now twinkled so coldly in their 
far-away home, he said, with a strange thrill in his 
voice, “This sight reminds me forcibly of the God 
who mocks at the creatures his own hands formed.” 

As the young girl turned a startled face towards 
him, he added, bitterly, “It seems strange to me a 
God of love and mercy, presiding over the destinies 
of all, and yet among those icy sleepers are numbered 
the innocent babe and the little child who had not 
learned the ways of sin. How can the all-pitying 
One witness such heart-rending desolation, and not 
put forth his hand to avert it?” 

“ I cannot understand it, for his ways are unsearch- 
able and past finding out,” the young girl repeated, 
more to herself than in reply to his question. 

“ They must be, or, at least, they are, very different 
from what we would call merciful.” 

“ What thou knowest not now, thou shalt know 
hereafter,” said a faint voice from among the fatally 
wounded. They both drew nearer the sufferer, and 
kneeling down by the side of the dying, the tremb- 
ling girl wiped the death-damp from the marble brow 
of the woman, not much older than herself. “ If you 
could only feel the power of Jesus , love, as I do now, 
you would never doubt him again. I know I am 
dn'iig, but I am not afraid, for He is near me, and 
i .s rod and staff comfort me.” 

The woman’s breath was coming quicker and 
■8'iorter, and Dick, unused to such scenes, hurried 
away in search of a physician, but before he returned 
with help the young saint had entered within the veil. 

“What shall I call you — Mr. — Mr.?” asked the 
young lady, as they turned to the fire that had been 
started in the old mill near by. 


AN ACCIDENT. 


97 

“Call me Dick Jewell, and do tell me by what 
name to address you, for I have been distinguishing 
you by the color of your dress ever since I first saw 
you.” 

4 ‘ It is a wonderful time since w T e first met in that 
little dingy station, but you have been so kind to me 
that I do not mind telling you that I am Bessie Kent, 
and this young lady informs me that at home she is 
known by the name of Mabel Drayton.” 

Bowing to the trim miss who had excited his dis- 
gust by her patronizing airs, Dick inquired if there 
was any thing more that he could do for their com- 
fort, and being informed to the contrary, he went out 
to see what help he could afford outside. 

Day wa3 breaking before the wounded, the dying 
and the dead were transferred to a train waiting to 
carry them to a place where proper attention could 
be given them. Slowly they crawled along over the 
frozen rails, and in another hour reached a resting 
where the wounded were cared for by competent 
nurses and the dead were prepared for burial. 



CHAPTER XV. 

A MODEL HOME. 


ICK'S broken arm proved quite trouble- 
1 w some before be was able to use it again. 

During the excitement following the 
accident it had seemed of such small consequence, 
when compared with the terrible suffering of others, 
that he almost lost sight of the injury altogether. 
When at last, after the removal, a physician had time 
to examine into the extent of the injury, the arm was 
found to be badly swollen, making the reduction of 
the fracture both difficult and painful. Fever fol- 
lowed, and for several days he was unable to leave the 
hospital to which he had been carried. 

Not being informed as to the nature of his daugh- 
ter's injuries, Dr. Kent came to the scene of the disas- 
ter upon the first train that left Springfield. Though 
he was gratified to find Bessie's injuries slight, the 
great need of skilled help among the wounded induced 
him to spend several days in giving such assistance as 
the sufferers required. 

Having learned from Bessie that Dick's condition 
was much aggravated by his heroic efforts to serve 
others whose misfortunes were greater than his own, 
the kind-hearted Doctor insisted upon the friendless 
youth making his home a stopping-place until he 
should be able to look out for himself. Though 
heretofore Dick had not been very sensitive about 

98 


A MODEL HOME. 


99 


living off others, his pride revolted against accepting 
such an invitation when he was convinced that it had 
been given out of sheer pity. 

Judging that the youth’s refusal had its founda- 
tion in a false pride, the doctor offered to give him 
employment when he was able to go to work, with the 
privilege of repaying the debt should his conscience 
still continue to trouble him on that score. 

The house to which Dr. Kent took his guest was 
large and handsome. Grand, almost, one might have 
been tempted to say, only that in all its appointments 
it displayed a taste too exquisite to be denominated 
grandeur. , 

“This is my sister Helen,” said Bessie brightly, 
presenting a slight, delicately formed lady, with 
brown hair and hazel eyes. 

“ And here, Helen, is a very tired, cold and weary 
young gentleman, whom I commend to your brightest 
sunshine,” said the doctor briskly, after placing his 
patient in an easy chair by the side of the glowing 
fire. Helen laughed a low, silverly little laugh as she 
shook the snow flakes from the young man’s hat. 

Dick sank back in the depths of .the great easy 
chair, and wondered if he really were awake, or if 
this vision of beauty and sensation of rest and luxury 
were merely fanciful illusions. Dick had an eye for 
beauty, but it was the admirable fitness of things, the 
blending of colors and shades, the matching of every 
thing, without seeming to be matched, just as things 
match in the woods on an October day, when the 
sunlight glints the rich-hued leases with yellow and 
gold. 

The carpet was thick, and soft, and bright, with 
sprays of geranium leaves strewn here and there aa if 


100 


IN SEAR H OF A HOME . 


a graceful hand had scattered them there, fresh and 
fragrant from the most rare plant. 

There was a bay-window filled with exotic plants, 
and song birds in their gilded cages chirped and 
twitted pleasantly in the merry sunshine. 

An old English ivy crept out from behind the 
mirror, and wound graceful!} around statues, and 
trailed over mantles at its own sweet will. 

There was furniture in the room, dainty and exqui- 
site chairs and tables and sofas, but these all seemed 
to hold a subordinate place, doing their duty grace- 
fully and well, but by no means ambitious to fill 
spheres that did not belong to them. 

The walls were hung with paper of that creamy 
tint that gives one the fancy that there is a golden 
sunset outside, and that somehow the rays have left 
a glow on every thing inside. 

At the supper table Dick first met the gentle 
mother and the eldest sister, Gladys. Mrs. Kent 
was as lovely as her daughters, and received the 
invalid in a very motherly wav, which went to his' 
heart at once. His mother had died while he was a 
very little child, but he had a faint recollection of her 
fair face and gentle manners, that were not at all like 
Aunt Pen’s. Since she had gone to heaven he had 
not known any other home than the one from which 
he had been driven two years before, and it made 
him homesick to sit with this Christian family and 
note the love for each other beaming in their eyes. 

44 Tf my mother had lived to make such a home f r 
me I would not to-day be 4 vagrant Dick Jewell,’ ” 
was the young man’s soliloquy, as he lay, with half- 
closed eyes, upon the parlor sofa, 44 It is bad homes 
that make prisons and reformatories necessary,” he 




A MODEL HOME. 101 

mused bitterly. “ And is it the will of these Chris- 
tian people’s God that homes be broken up and chil- 
dren left to grow into manhood and womanhood with- 
out the sheltering care of a mother’s love?” 

“What thou knowest not now, thou shalt know 
hereafter,” came back to him, and again he saw the 
light in that dying woman’s eye, and again he won- 
dered if there could be such a transforming influence 
in religion. Aunt Pen went to church regularly 
every Sunday and was never known to miss com- 
munion ; she believed in the creed and read her Bible 
occasionally, but she enjoyed none of the softening 
effects of the blessed gospel, neither did she.recom- 
m°nd its teaching by her life, and the question that 
troubled poor Dick as he lay there tossing feverishly 
from side to side was, Why this difference ? Why is 
she not like Mrs. Kent, and why does she not show 
religion by bearing Christian fruits? 

■ 



CHAPTER XVI . 

A SURPRISE. 


convalescence was tedious. Some- 
| 1 how, in spite of his determination to 

make rapid improvement, he gained 
strength very slowly. The Doctor gave him the 
best of attention, and looked disappointed at the 
unsatisfactory results of his experiments. There 
was no hereditary taint in his blood, Dick affirmed, 
for the boy did not know that the wine-drinking 
of his forefathers was steadily undermining the con- 
stitutions of the whole Bergh race. These ances- 
tors had not been heavy drinkers, but they had 
bequeathed to their descendants a taste for intoxi- 
cants as well as a weakness that was not able to 
resist temptation when it came. The Doctor sur- 
mised the difficulty and cautiously questioned him 
concerning the habits of his ancestry. Dick admitted 
that they had been high-livers, neither did he attempt 
to conceal the fact that of late years he had been 
living rather a dissipated life. He was surprised 
that the Doctor took his statement so coolly, but 
many surprises and revelations, too, came to him 
while he lay in that luxurious room enjoying the 
splendid misery of invalidism. 

One of these surprises came rather suddenly upon 
him one morning when he learned that theie was a 
son and brother in that home. Not a bright, uprigh^, 

102 


A SURPRISE. • 


103 


manly youth, a son to be proud of and a brother to 
be a fitting companion of the lovely sisters, but a dis- 
solute, erring prodigal like himself. How any one 
could have gone so far astray within the peaceful 
influence of that charming home was a mystery to 
the poor fellow who had never known the blessing 
of such surroundings. Though from the father’s 
stern visage in the presence of his boy, Dick knew 
that he carried a heavy heart, there were never 
unpleasant scenes and bitter recriminations on occa- 
sions of the son’s shortcomings, as there used to be 
in the old home when Aunt Pen heard of his own 
evil doings. 

As he lay there watching Bessie as she flitted about 
from duty to duty like a bird from flower to flower, 
he thought that by nature she was a true home- 
maker. He had not understood the meaning of the 
Maltese cross or the mysterious “ Ten,” about which 
the two girls had been talking that day in the station, 
but of one thing he was convinced, there was a sig- 
nificance in the name of the “Ten” to which she 
belonged. 

Though Louis, the recreant son, was usually sullen 
and disagreeable, he scarcely ever answered this bright 
young sister roughly, and her influence over him was 
one of the blessings for which the parents gave thanks 
daily. She never made a display of this power — it 
was | py subtle, silent work that the leading was done 
— the seeming not to lead was the secret of her suc- 
cess. 

One evening Bessie was sitting by the fire puzzling 
her brain over a difficult problem in algebra. Once 
or twice she glanced up at her father, who occupied a 
seat opposite her, but he appeared to be engaged 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


104 

with his paper, and his leisure moments were so few 
that she disliked to trouble him with her trivial diffi- 
culties. Presently Louis came shuffling down stairs 
and crossed the hall to the door. 

“Now he is off to Linton’s,” mused Bessie. “I 
do wish — ” a bright idea struck her, and she called 
pleasantly, “ Louis, have you any particular engage- 
ment to meet just now?” 

She saw that her words had not been well-chosen 
even before Louis replied, defiantly: — “ About a& 
much engaged as vagabonds usually are.” 

“ I wish you would lend me your head for a short 
time; I am at my wits’ end. Here I have been work- 
ing at this question for a full hour, and I am no 
nearer the end than I was at first.” 

Louis looked at her suspiciously. He w r as not 
certain ^whether she really wished help or was setting 
a trap to catch him up. 

“You don’t suppose a worthless fellow like me 
could be of any service to you?” he muttered at 
last, taking a step towards her. 

“ Try me and see,” was her reply. “ I know you 
are familiar with every example in this book ” 

She made room for him by her side, and he was 
soon as much interested in the problem as she had 
been in devising l^eans to detain him. One diffi- 
culty after another was talked over until Bessie 
dared not detain him longer for fear he would detect 
her design. However, he made no movement in the 
direction of Linton’s, and when he did go it was to 
his own room. 

The grateful look Bessie received from her father 
more than repaid her for an evening’s pleasure she 
had missed. An hour later, when passing Louis’ half- 


A SURPRISE ^ 


105 


open door, she was agreeably surprised to see him 
deeply engrossed with some of his old school books. 
For several evenings after this she managed to keep 
him employed. Now it was a knotty geometrical 
problem, or a difficult Latin translation ; again it was 
a quiet game of chess, where a player wss needed, or 
a new song with broken time that could not be sung 
without a good, strong bass. 

Dick, from his easy chair in the corner, was almost 
as much interested in the result of the young girl’s 
labor of love as she was herself. Louis seemed so 
utterly out of place among the refined, cultured mem- 
bers of this family that even the profligate, Dick 
Jewell, longed to see him reclaimed. 

I have said that no disgusting scenes ever marred 
the harmony of the Kent household even under the 
most provoking circumstances, and I repeat it, but in 
their manner of dealing with the erring member there 
was a vast difference. While the father was stern 
and cold, the mother was gentle and tender — Gladys 
ignored the presence of the boy altogether, and Helen 
tried to coax and reason him back to his old manner 
of life, for there had been a time when no lad in all 
the city ranked higher in the estimation of the people 
than just Louis Kent, and the time was not far p*st 
when Dr. Kent’s boy had stood at the head of his 
classes, both in the academy and college. 

One morning towards spring, after Dick had ceased 
to be an invalid, and had taken up the cares incident 
to the life of a clerk, Louis came in looking very 
angry, and holding up two square envelopes, asked: 

“ What does this mean? One of these concerns is 
addressed to you, Bessie, and the other one has my 
name written upon it.” 


106 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


“ I am sure I cannot tell. Perhaps the quickest 
way to determine would be to break the seal and 
examine its contents,” replied Bessie, taking the per- 
fumed card from its dainty enclosure. It was an 
invitation to Nettie Garde’s birthday party. With 
an effort to conceal her astonishment, she turned to 
Louis, who was tearing open his invitation. He 
glanced over it suspiciously, his face growing dark 
as he read the contents; then flinging it across the 
room, he looked at his frightened sister, and said, 
savagely: — “This is some of your doings, Bessie. 
Did you mean to insult me? ” 

“Indeed, Louis, it is the very first intimation I 
have had that Nettie’s birthday was anyways near 
at hand,” returned Bessie. 

“You have been trying to interest that saint Philip 
in my behalf then. The cur never sent this unin- 
fluenced. Of that I am sure,” continued Louis, hotly. 

“ Indeed, Louis, I assure you upon my honor that 
your name was never mentioned between Phil and 
myself; besides you have overlooked the fact that 
this party is Nettie’s and not Phil’s,” Bessie rejoined 
with a touch of dignity. 

Louis’ suspicious nature had made him a keen 
reader of faces, and he turned away fully conscious 
of the fact that Bessie had told him the exact truth. 
It required all of Bessie’s coaxing and Phil’s logic to 
convince him that he would not be out of place among 
those who had once been his friends. 

“ It is a foolish experiment,” said Helen, when she 
heard Bessie’s delighted version of the story. “ I am 
afraid it will end disastrously for poor Louis.” 

And her words proved to be too true. The cordial 
greetings of Phil and Nettie secured for him polite 


A SURPRISE . 


107 


treatment from most of their guests, and all would 
have been well had not Louis, very unfortunately, 
overheard the remarks of two young ladies who hap- 
pened to be near him. 

“What in the world brought that bar-room loafer, 
Louis Kent, here to-night?” questioned Dell Noitor. 
“He belongs down at Linton’s, and ought to be there 
instead of here mingling with respectable people.” 

“ It’s some of Phil’s religion working off. It is a 
wonder that he did not persuade old Sam Linton to 
come, too. He seems to think he is able to evangelize 
the world,” laughed the silvery voice of Ava Mitchel. 

“Mary Carter calls Phil Mr. Sanbord’s curate. 
You know the boy prays and exhorts at the young 
people’s meeting with as much earnestness as Deacon 
Thorp himself,” Dell returned ; “ but I do think he 
might have saved his sister’s guests from contact with 
bar-room rubbish.” 

“ Hush ! ” whispered Ava. “ I heard Phil threaten 
to thrash Fred Geyer if he dared insult his protege. 
Fred had been indulging in some pretty plain talk.” 

“ It is a shame — ” 

Louis lost the close of Dell’s remarks, for the girls 
moved away just then. However, the cruel v 7 ords 
had done their work. His face was livid with rage, 
and between his clenched teeth he muttered : — “ And 
so it was Phil, after all!” 

Bessie saw him take his hat from the rack, and fol- 
lowed him to the door, pleading for him to wait a 
moment for her. But he pushed her back savagely, 
saying: — “I do not want your company, Bessie. 
I’ve been insulted, and I’ll settle with Phil at some 
future time.” 

Phil proposed following him and trying to induce 


/ 


108 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


him to return, but Bessie objected, for there was mur- 
der in Louis’ flashing eyes when he spoke of Phil. 

Knowing that no good would co.me of dogging his 
steps, Bessie returned to the parlor, but as soon as she 
had a chance of speaking to Dick, she asked to be 
taken home. Louis did not go near Linton’s, as 
Bessie had feared, but after walking aimlessly around 
for an hour, he went to his own room, and in its soli- 
tude recalled the stinging words that had so stirred 
and embittered his soul. He could noi help acknowl- 
edging their truth, but they were hard to bear just 
the same. What was he but a degraded bar-room 
loafer ? Why should he feel so bitterly toward Phil 
Garde, who really wished to befriend him? 

Bessie heaved a sigh of relief as she passed his 
door, which stood ajar. His ashen face and dejected 
attitude touched her heart, but she dared not intrude 
for fear of rousing his anger. It was a long time 
before she fell asleep, and when she awoke in the 
morning poor, humbled Louis was gone. Where, no 
one could tell. 



CHAP TEE XVII . 

THE LOST FOUND. 


LMOST a year had passed away and still 
/' \ Dick had remained faithful to his trust, 
^ V® while no word had ever come back from 


poor Louis Kent. 

It was the last evening of the Week of Prayer, 
and the old gray-haired pastor leaned heavily upon 
the pulpit, waiting for some one to speak a word for 
Jesus. For seven days and nights he had pleaded 
with sinners to come to the Saviour, and now must 
he close these meetings without a single soul being 
born into the kingdom ? 

As he looked over the large audience, he asked for 
the third time, “Is there not a soul in this house 
ready to testify for the Master? Is there not a 
father or mother present who desires the salvation 
of a wayward child? Are there not sisters before 
me who have brothers unsaved? O, my friends, is 
there not one anxious heart in all this congregation 
to-night?” 

As he gazed compassionately down on the people 
he loved many heads were bowed to conceal the 
emotion they could not otherwise conceal. In the 
Kent pew Helen moved uneasily from side to side, 
wishing that she had the courage to ask prayer on 
behalf of her twin brother — a wanderer from his 
father’s house on earth. Why did not some one 

109 


110 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


speak ? And then the same old thought came back 
to perplex her: Why did not she testify for her 
King ? Had he not died for her, and was the cross 
heavier for her than for others? Then she began 
debating with herself the propriety of women speak- 
ing in public, but before she had settled the question 
it was settled for her by a familiar voice saying : 

“ I wish to testify what good things the Lord has 
done for me. Like the prodigal son, I had wandered 
far from my Father’s house, but in his love and pity 
he sought me out and brought me back into the fold. 
I was lost, but now am found.” 

“Praise the Lord!” exclaimed the old minister, 
wiping the tears from his faded eyes. 

Helen knew that the voice which had broken the 
painful silence belonged to Louis, but she dared not 
raise her eyes for fear she might discover that she 
had been mistaken. Bessie was sitting by her side, 
and almost immediately began to sing: 

“I gave my life for thee, 

My precious blood I shed, 

That thou might’st ransomed be 
Ar,d quickened from the dead. 

I gave, I gave my life for me, 

What hast thou given for me?” 

The first few words Bessie sang alone, but before 
the verse was finished hundreds of voices had joined 
in the solemn service. * 

“ I have found him very precious to my soul / 5 said 
Phil Garde, “and I wish to say to the dear brother 
who has spoken, ‘ You will never regret the decision 
you have just now made/ There is no Friend like 
Jesus. I could not live without Him.” 

Just at that critical moment Helen caught Dick 


TEE LOST FOUND. 


Ill 


Jewell’s eye. He was watching her, and perhaps 
weighing her in the balance. For an instant she 
turned deathly pale, and then, as if urged on by 
some invisible influence, she rose to her feet, and 
in a voice trembling with emotion said, “ Jesus is 
all and in all to me. Pray that I may never dis- 
grace His name.” 

Immediately every head was bowed, and in tremu- 
lous tones Dr. Rea besought the throne of grace- 
Helen’s courageous voice unsealed other lips, and in 
the blissful hour that followed many for the first time 
spoke a word for the Master. 

Louis Kent had elbowed his way up to the family 
pew and stood waiting for the meeting to close, when 
on the opposite side of the aisle a manly form stood up r 
and in a voice full of suppressed emotion humbly 
asked, “Will you pray for me, the vilest of sinners?” 

Dick Jewell’s broken accents sent a strange thrill 
through the audience, and for a few moments perfect 
silence reigned ; then a tremulous voice, far back in 
the crowd, said, “Let us pray.” Every head was 
bowed, and when the petition was ended more eyes 
than those of Dick Jewell were dim with tears. 

There seemed to be a peculiar solemnity about 
Dick’s appeal, and after a verse of the hymn, 

“Just as I am without one plea, 

But that thy blood was shed for me, 

And that thou bid’st me come to thee, 

O, Lamb of God, I come, I come,” 

there was a brief season devoted to voluntary prayer. 
Another hymn followed, and then Dr. Rea astonished 
the congregation by asking Louis Kent to lead in 

prayer. 


112 IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 

There was a sudden rustling of heads, that peculiar 
murmur of sound that flows over an amazed audience, 
and then that equally peculiar silence settling over the 
worshippers as the new voice filled the house with 
prayer. It was a wonderful prayer. There was such 
a sense of security in his words, such a realization of 
the presence of his Saviour. 

After that there was some talking, more singing 
and another prayer, and then Dr. Rea spoke again : 

“ There may he those present to-night, Christians 
by profession, who enjoy little of that peace which 
the young brother, in the mercy of God, so richly 
inherits. They may be conscious of having followed 
Jesus afar-off, of having lived unworthy lives; they 
may be saying at this very moment, ‘ O, for a closer 
walk with God/ Perhaps such an one desires our 
prayers — prayers for a renewal of covenant vows, a 
reconsecration of heart, and life, and love, and will, 
and self to the Master. If such persons are present 
I hope they will manifest their desire by rising.” 

The request brought many of the vast assembly to 
their feet; then there were prayers offered, earnest, 
pleading ones, such prayers as had never before been 
offered or heard in that place. Tears rolled down 
wrinkled cheeks, and all over the house suppressed 
sobs shook strong frames unused to weepin ~. Chris- 
tirns seemed to have a new baptism of the Spirit, and 
from the eyes of unconverted church members the 
scales of unbelief appeared to fall away. 

“ You were the means of my coming to a decision 
to-night,” said Dick, as he walked home by Helen’s 
side. 

I was t How is that possible ? What have I ever 
said or done that could have helped you?” 


THE LOST FOUND. 


US 


“ Nothing,” answered straightforward Dick. “ At 
least nothing until to-night. I never quite believed 
in you before ; but when you arose I felt that there 
was a hidden power in it all that I did not under- 
stand, and I wanted it.” 

‘ ^-ken ^ am glad that God told me to rise, for I 
feel it was Him, and I did desire to do right, so as 
not to be a stumbling block to you.” 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

A STRANGE MEETING. 


GIBBONS was quick to discern real 



worth, and remembering his own struggles 
>) ,in early life was ready to offer a helping 


hand to worthy young men who were striving to 
make a name and a place in the world. D nald’s 
extra exertions pleased him, and he frequently in- 


vited him to spend an hour in his office. One even- 


ing he introduced him to his son Leroy. The young 
man bowed haughtily, but took no further notice of 
the intruder. On several occasions afterwards he 
occupied a seat at the table, but never seemed to 
recognize the young stranger in whose welfare his 


father took such a deep interest. 


In another and less aristocratic part of the city 
stood Dr. Elton’s beautiful home. Though not as 
palatial as that of Judge Gibbons’, elegant simplicity 
and refined taste had made it a charming spot. 

The two men had been life long friends, and between 
their families there existed the closest intimacy. Dr. 
Elton had no children of his own, but his home was 
frequently brightened by the merry voices of his 
nephews and nieces. The old Doctor and his wife 
were fond of all the young people who visited them, 
but perhaps the face that brought the most sunshine 
to the home was that of Bessie Kent, the fair, young 
daughter of Dr. Elton’s youngest sister. 


114 


A STRANGE MEETING. 


115 


During one of her protracted visits she met Leroy 
Gibbons, and having known him from his infancy, 
the old Doctor and his'wife encouraged rather than 
discouraged the growing intimacy between the young 
people. Had they been aware that in the whirl of 
fashionable life Leroy had learned to love t^e wine 
cup, they would have shielded her from his presence 
as from a deadly viper. 

It was no matter of anxiety to them when they 
saw the young couple depart to spend the evening 
with a few mutual friends. Leroy had been making 
calls during the afternoon, and had imbibed too freely 
already; hence, after partaking of the bountiful repast 
provided by their hostess, in which old wine was 
served with a generous hand, he lost control of him- 
self, and for the first time in public drank to excess. 
Bessie’s quick ear noted the unpleasant change in his 
voice, but until a friend advised her to try to coax 
him home she was entirely ignorant of the cause of 
his boisterous conduct. 

“ Had I not better see you home?” asked young 
Ferguson, aside, as Bessie prepared to go. 

“ Thanks ! but I wall reach home in safety,” replied 
the girl, indignantly. 

“After making him drunk kick him out like a 
dog,” she said to herself, as she reluctantly took 
the arm Leroy offered. She hoped the keen, bracing 
air would sober him, but it took all her strength to 
keep him from falling upon the slippery pavement, 
while his maudlin talk became louder and more dis- 
gusting every minute. 

“ Come on, Leroy, quickly,” she begged, ready to 
cry with vexation. , 

“ 1 11 be confounded if I do. No gentleman would 


116 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


be beaten by a plaguey old street, and I’ll be banged 
if I move a step till the icy pavement goes on.” 

At last, by a good deal of coaxing and consider- 
able scolding, she succeeded in persuading him to 
move on for a short distance. Staggering from side 
to side, sometimes on the street and sometimes on the 
pavement, she half dragged him along until he fell 
to hugging and kissing a lamp-post, and no amount 
of pleading could induce him to move on a step 
further. Pity, disgust and mortification held sway 
in Bessie’s breast. She was tempted to fly and leave 
•him to his fate, but it was intensely cold and she 
feared he would freeze before morning. If she called 
the police he would be locked up, and her name, as 
well as his, would be bandied before a police court in 
the morning. What must she do? 

Just then she heard footsteps in the distance. At 
first they brought a feeling of relief, for help was 
badly needed ; then there came to her an overwhelm- 
ing sense of approaching evil. A knowledge of her 
own unprotected condition thrilled her with horror. 
Even should the swift feet be those of a friend how 
she shrank from making herself known. In the cold 
chill that shook her frame she could feel the hot blood 
dyeing her cheeks. 

Nearer and nearer came the steps, and in the bright 
light of the full moon she could see that it was a 
stranger. Instinctively she drew nearer the man she 
was trying to protect, hoping that the newcomer 
would not see them in the shadow of the lamp post 
where they stood. 

It was almost as light as day, but the mutter- 
ings of the intoxicated man at her side would have 
attracted attention even in the dark. 


A STRANGE 3IEETING. 


117 


The footsteps slackened, then halted, and a clear 
voice said, “ Can I be of any service to you, ma’am?” 

There was something in the tone that gave her 
confidence, and she answered with a question : 

“Would you be so kind as to assist this young 
gentleman home?” There was a slight tremor in her 
voice, but she kept up bravely while she listened 
anxiously for the stranger’s reply. 

“Where shall I take him?” he asked quietly, 
taking a step nearer them. 

“No. 52 Fifth avenue,” Bessie answered, in a more 
steady voice. 

The young man started and looked keenly into the 
face of the lamp post’s companion. 

“Do you know him?” Bessie asked, anxiously. 

“ I think I have met him,” he replied, in a hesitat- 
ing voice. “ He is the son of my instructor, Judge 
Gibbons, if I am not mistaken.” 

“ I regret to say that you are correct,” Bessie said 
huskily, as the young stranger proceeded to loosen 
the inebriate’s grip of the friendly lamp-post and 
place his arm firmly within his own ; then, offering 
the free one to Bessie, he inquired where she wished 
to go. 

The young girl breathed more freely now, and 
without being questioned she related as much of the 
night’s experience as was necessary to give him a fair 
understanding of the unfortunate affair. 

Leaving Bessie at her Uncle’s door, Donald finally 
succeeded in reaching the number to which he had 
been directed. After ringing the bell he was obliged 
to wait fully ten minutes before the old, gray-headed 
father opened the door. For a moment the distressed 
man seemed utterly crushed by the scene before 


118 


IN SEAR CH OF A HOME. 


him, then in a low, troubled voice he said with a 
groan : 

“ Please, help to get him to his room.” 

Up the broad, carved, oaken stairs they carried 
their heavy burden, and into an elegantly furnished 
room, wit h its canopied bed and rich upholstery, they 
took their half conscious charge. The unusual sound 
had waked both Helen and her mother, and they 
came to the door to inquire into the cause of the 
disturbance. 

Seeing her son lying so white and still, the mother 
cried out: — “ He is dead! O, my boy is dead!” 

“Dead drunk!” exclaimed the father, with another 
groan. 

“Unsay those dreadful words !” she shrieked. “I 
am sure he is dying.” 

“ Better to die than to disgrace us so,” the father 
muttered, as he paced back and forth across the 
room. 

Helen went to the window and carefully closed the 
shutters, her first thought being to hide their shame 
from the world. 

After performing such little ministries as his heart 
prompted, Donald was about to withdraw, when Helen 
turned sharply from the window, where she still 
remained, and said in a cold, hard voice, “ See that 
you keep your lips sealed on what you have witnessed 
to-night.” 

Donald flashed an injured look upon her, and then 
returned bitterly : 

“ Do you think I am devoid of all principle as well 
as feeling?” 

“ Daughter, I am ashamed of you,” her father 
'exclaimed, reprovingly. “ Do not insult this friend 


A STRANGE MEETING . 


119 


by making sucli a request. If he bad consulted his 
own comfort he would not have come nearly a mile 
out of his way to bring your brother home. Had it 
not been for this young man Leroy would have slept 
in prison to-night, and to-morrow’s papers would have 
been fall of the disgraceful affair ” 

“ Then requite him for his services, and demand his 
silence,” she retorted, with a haughty gesture. 

“ Faithfulness has its own reward, Helen. Do 
exercise a little more grace,” her father replied. 

“ Forgive the girl’s lack of courtesy,” he said, as he 
offered his hand to Donald at the door. “ She is very 
much excited, and some allowance must be made for 
lier show of spirit.” 

“ Think no more about it,” replied Donald, hurry- 
ing away. 

Helen still kept her place at the window when her 
father returned. He looked at her gravely as he said : 

“ I gave you more credit for knowing and keeping 
jour place than you exhibited to-night.” 

‘‘You can never trust people of his class. They 
will do any thing f >r money,” she retorted. 

‘‘I only wish my own son possessed the sterling 
qualities of Donald Bergh. With his noble man" 
hood, Leroy would be rich even if he had not a dollar 
in the world. Money is the greatest curse a young 
man can inherit when he has not judgment to use it 
aright. Leroy is much older than Donald Bergh, 
yet with all the advantages he has enjoyed, young 
Bergh is much in advance of him as far as educa- 
tion is concerned. I tell you, Helen, the time is 
coming when you will be proud to recognize that 
young man you insulted to-night, while your poor, 
aristocratic brother will never be any thing, unless 
he changes his course.” 


120 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


“ That may all be, father, but because Leroy dis- 
graces himself the rest of us need not get down in 
the mire with him,” insisted Helen. “This Bergh 
fellow is a nobody. He came to Chicago as a tramp* 
and began work at Thayer’s as a porter.” 

“Your father earned his first money blacking peo- 
ple’s boots,” said the Judge, coolly. 

“But you don’t black boots for a living now,” 
rejoined Helen. 

“ Neither will Donald Bergh be a porter at fifty- 
five,” said her father. “ Brains and aristocracy are 
not necessarily inseparable. The rich and poor 
change places once in a generation.” 

“Still, father, is it necessary for us to anticipate 
such changes a score of years in advance? Are cul- 
tured people obliged to hunt out these scavengers of 
society and beg for their friendship on the score of 
what they will be fifty or a hundred years from 
now?” 

“Don’t be foolish, Helen. You know I mean 
nothing of the sort. I only plead that the lowly 
may have their God-given privileges, and that true 
worth — not money — open and shut the doors of 
society. Never again insult any one who has done 
you a kindness.” 

“I was provoked into doing what I did, father. 
It was mean, I’ll admit, but I cannot endure for 
strangers to laugh at our misfortunes,” muttered 
Helen, with a scornful nod in the direction of her 
brother. 

“ You seem to have a very poor opinion of human 
nature, daughter, but your secret is safe with a youth 
like Donald Bergh,” replied her father. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE OLD STORY RETOLD. 


ERALD EADIE’S years in the city had 
I -W- been prosperous in a worldly point of view. 

The trickery and unfair dealing that had 
marked his school life found ample room for play 
in his business career. AA extensive dealer in stocks, 
he had no scruples as to the means he employed in 
securing his end. Time and again had he risked 
the firm’s money in doubtful investments, but usually 
he had made profitable speculations and had been 
able to replace the borrowed funds before the regular 
monthly investigation took place. It is probable that 
he would have been even more reckless, but for the 
presence of that staunch defender of the right, Donald 
Bergh, who, much to his annoyance, still filled the 
responsible position of assistant book-keeper. The 
affection between the two young men had not increased 
much during the months that they had spent together 
in the establishment. It was policy and not principle 
that compelled Eadie to treat young Bergh with even 
ordinary courtesy. He was afraid of the honest fel- 
low's sharp eyes, and tolerated his presence simply 
because he could not get rid of him. The great trouble 
was the other members of the firm valued the young 
assistant, not only from a commercial standpoint, 
where gain and loss alone were to be 'considered, 

121 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


122 

'but his uniform cheerfulness and courtesy had given 
him a strong hold upon their hearts. 

Every thing in connection with the establishment 
seemed to be moving along smoothly, and Eadie had 
almost despaired of dislodging the intruder, when a 
circumstance occurred that sent a thrill of pleasure 
through his veins. 

It was the second autumn after Donald had been 
employed by Thayer & Company, and while attend- 
ing the Exposition at Louisville, that the young 
merchant met his old chum and room-mate, Will 
Scott While discussing their school days at Sterling 
Academy young Scott referred to the prank that they 
had so successfully played on old Dr. Armitage. Said 
he, laughing heartily at the remembrance of his spec- 
tacled majesty, the horned sheep, “ That was the most 
iridieulous scene I ever witnessed. It does a fellow 
good to laugh over it yet.” 

“The old Doctor didn’t enjoy the joke much,” 
answered Eadie, with a frown. He never relished 
the flavor of that trick himself, and was half pro- 
woked at Scott for introducing the subject. 

“ He did not at the time, but I’ll venture he has 
had many a good laugh over it since,” argued Will. 
“I didn’t care a penny for his fussing, but I have 
a distinct recollection of having felt outrageously 
^uncomfortable when poor Donald Bergh walked 
«down that aisle with his books upon his arm. I 
felt like getting up and making an out-and-out con- 
fession. I stole a glance at you, and you seemed 
to be the very personification of innocence. You 
were looking on with the utmost indifference, and 
I concluded that if you could stand it, I was not 
going to squeal.” 


THE OLD STORY RETOLD. 123 

“It was a mean trick, I’ll admit, but if he was 
soft enough to let us impose upon him, he deserved 
to suffer. If he had been ordinarily sharp he would 
have turned me over to the tormentors at once,” said 
Eadie, impatient to change the subject. 

“ But he was made out of different stuff from the 
kind that at that time entered into your composition. 
His faculty for lying was not so fully developed as 
yours, you see,” with a familiar slap on the shoulder. 

“His honesty was noteworthy,” sneered Eadie* 
“ He overcame it beautifully, however, when he put 
that unprincipled Dick up to ‘peach’ at the last,” 
snapped Eadie. 

“ He never did that, Gerald, I am sure,” retorted 
Scott. “ Donald Bergh would not stoop to do such a 
mean thing.” 

“What did Dr. Armitage think of the sequel?” 
asked Eadie, curiously. 

“ I do not think the report ever reached him. It 
was only of local interest — scarcely that, for no one 
took any account of Dick after he was sent home in 
disgrace.” 

“He did not amount to much, that is certain,” 
assented Eadie. 

“ He was a wonderful time righting the wrong that 
he helped to commit, and then to think that poor 
Donald bartered away his reputation for honesty — 
altogether for Dick’s sake — such a short time after- 
wards.” 

“Donald! Did he get into trouble some way 
later?” exclaimed Eadie, with a quiver of excite- 
ment in his voice. 

“Yes! Did you never hear about it?” inquired 
Scott. 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


in 

“No, indeed! I supposed he was too good to 
go astray in the least after his experience in the 
Academy,” was the sarcastic reply. “What did he 
do, pray?” 

Then Scott related the story of the lost hundred 
dollars and of Mr. Mannering’s prompt method 
of pun : shment, and with much satisfaction, Eadie 
answered : 

“ I am glad, you told me about this little crooked- 
ness, for this same young hypocrite is the trusted book- 
keeper in our firm.” 

A prolonged whistle from Scott announced his 
surprise. “Your book-keeper! Why did you not 
tell me that bit of news sooner? I am sure I had 
no intention of doing the poor fellow injury,” he 
exclaimed. 

“You would have preferred leaving our firm to 
the mercy of a thief, I suppose,” said Eadie, a little 
sharply. 

“ Nothing of the kind, my friend, but there was no 
positive proof of his guilt, and he might be innocent 
after all,” was the reply. 

“ Things look rather dark for him, I should think, 1 ” 
returned Eadie, with evident satisfaction. 

“ Dick brought back a report confirming Donald’s 
explanation about the money expended in purchasing 
his suit, but you know how much stock people take in 
Dick’s talk.” 

“Not much, if he is like he was in the old days,” 
assented Eadie. 

“ He is much the old Dick, I guess ; at least, those 
who know him best have very little faith in his pre- 
tended reformation,” was Scott’s reply. 

“ He is a poor dog and never will amount to any 

I 


THE OLD STORY RETOLD . 


125 


good,” said Eadie, and then, having gained all the f 
information he wished, he adroitly managed to change 
the subject of conversation. 

As soon as he returned to Chicago he had a 
private conversation with Mr. Thayer, and Scott’s 
story becomes the property of the firm. 

“ I cannot credit such a thing,” replied Mr. Thayer, 
after listening quietly to Eadie’s recital. “He has 
always been so trustworthy.” 

“There is not a shadow of doubt concerning his 
guilt,” insisted Eadie. “ Mr. Scott is an old friend 
of mine and perfectly reliable.” 

“Why did not his employer prosecute him then? 
How does it come that the fellow is at large ?” asked 
the merchant, dubiously. 

“ Mr. Mannering had great respect for the young 
chap’s old Aunt, and it was for her sake that he was 
allowed to slip away so quietly,” explained Eadie. 

“ It seems strange — strange, indeed. I am sure I 
would have trusted him with millions of dollars had 
I been so fortunate as to have possessed it.” 

“ It is well you have been discreet in this matter, 
Mr- Thayer. I have always been a little suspicious 
of him, as you are aware, and I have related this 
circumstance solely to put you on your guard,” 
responded Eadie. 

“ I was cognizant of that fact, but rather thought 
you wished to pay off some old score, and took this 
means of making him uncomfortable,” remarked Mr. 
Thayer, scrutinizing the young man closely. 

“Pay off some old score? And I never had seen 
the fellow until he came tramping around here,” 
retorted Eadie, with a fair effort to hide his con- 
fusion. 


U6 IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 

“I did not know that, and judged from appear- 
ances alone,” was the cool reply. 

“ And had you no misgivings concerning the story 
he told?” 

“ He told none, and I asked him no questions.” 

“ I gave you credit for more good, solid, common 
sense than you seem to possess,” returned the young 
man, dryly. 

“ I have been flattering myself all along that my 
hasty judgment on this occasion had proven exceed- 
ingly correct,” responded the merchant, thought- 
fully. 

“ It was risking a great deal to take a fellow off - 
the street and without a recommendation give him a 
place of responsibility, but I have always prided 
myself upon my ability to read human nature, and 
this is the first intimation that I have had to the 
contrary regarding the case under consideration.” 

“It is singular that you did not distrust a well- 
dressed, well-educated fellow when he proposed to 
perform such menial labor,” argued Eadie. 

“ He had an honest face, you see.” 

“ But not an honest heart, as things have turned 
out. The date which Scott gave of his trouble at 
Egbert corresponds remarkably well with the time 
that he presented himself at the door of this estab- 
lishment,” said Eadie, convinced that facts were stub- 
born things and must win the way in spite of Mr. 
Thayer’s evident reluctance to admit testimony, no 
matter how damaging. 

“ The best way to settle this matter is to let the 
young gentleman speak for himself. If the story 
is true I do not think that he will deny it,” replied 
Mr. Thayer 


THE OLD STORY RETOLD. 


12T 


“ I do not think he will either.” thought Eadie, but 
he did not say this aloud. What he did say was; 
“ Thieves are not apt to be so conscientious as you try 
to make them out, but I have no objections to your 
interviewing the young gentleman, if you feel disposed 
to give him time to make a successful escape,” retorted 
Eadie, with a mocking laugh. 

“Send young Bergh to me at once,” said Mi 
Thayer, addressing a messenger boy, who was just* 
passing. 

In a few minutes Donald made his appearance, 
looking bright and contented as usual. 

“ Morton said you wished to speak to me, sir,” he 
said, addressing Mr. Thayer. 

“ I do, and on a. subject that is not very pleasant, 
too,” replied the gentleman, a little nervously. “X 
wish to ask you a few questions, and I trust you will 
answer me truthfully.” 

“ I will to the best of my ability,” returned Donald, 
a little perplexed. 

“Then we shall have the exact truth, for the 
inquiries concern only yourself,” was Mr. Thayer’* 
response. 

After a little hesitancy and clearing of the throaty 
he asked : 

“Before coming here were you employed in the 
establishment of Mannering & Company at Egbert?” 

“I was,” answered Donald promptly, but the eager 
eyes watching him noticed a perceptible paling of his 
face even before he spoke. 

“Why did you leave their employ?” was the next 
direct question. 

“ Because I was discharged,” returned Donald*, 
without flinching. 


m 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME, 


“For what were you discharged?” questioned Mr. 
Thayer, unmercifully. 

“ Because Mr. Mannering blamed me with extract- 
ing a hundred dollars from a roll of bills that I was 
entrusted to carry,” replied the young man. Though 
his face was ashen, his voice was steady and as free 
from the quiver of excitement as if answering the 
most commonplace questions. 

“ And did you take the money with which you were 
charged?” 

“I did not, sir — not a penny of it, but as I had no 
proof to offer, I was obliged to bear the disgrace, and 
to be driven away without a character,” was the quick 
reply. 

“Why did you not demand a trial?” was Mr. 
Thayer’s instant query. 

“ I did, but neither my Aunt nor Mr. Mannering 
would consent to my request,” said Donald. 

“ Then your Aunt believed you guilty, too?” sneered 
Eadie, unable longer to disguise his satisfaction of the 
way things were working into his hands. 

“ She did ; but you remember she believed me the 
author of a crime of which I was not guilty once 
before,” retorted Donald, with a meaning look. 

Eadie made no reply. He saw that Mr. Thayer’s 
sharp eyes were upon him, and he was afraid to give 
voice to the angry thoughts that Donald’s words had 
stirred. 

“Why did you not make this confession sooner?” 
asked Mr. Thayer, ignoring the little scene that had 
just taken place between the two young men. 

“ Simply for the reason that no one interviewed me 
on the subject. Had you asked me why I left my 
former position, I would have told you that I had 


TEE OLD STORY RETOLD. 


129 


been discharged, but to have forced this knowledge 
upon you would have been equivalent to admitting 
my guilt.” 

“ Perhaps you are right, but had I known your 
reputation I would not have harbored you for an 
hour. I trusted you fully and freely, even while 
others doubted the wisdom of ray course. Mr. 
Eadie has been suspicious of you all along, and it 
now turns out that the youngest member of the 
firm has shown more knowledge of human nature 
than the eldest one.” 

“He understands just how well-founded his sus- 
picions have been, I imagine,” returned Donald, with 
a flash of indignation. 

“We will not continue this discussion longer now,” 
said Mr. Thayer, with an impatient gesture. “Go 
back to your work, and in an hour come to me for 
your answer. I must consult with my partners before 
disposing finally of the case.” 

Donald walked slowly back to his desk, and in a 
mechanical way finished the work upon which he had 
been engaged when interrupted. He then went care- 
fully over all his accounts for the quarter, feeling that 
it was his duty to leave every thing in good shape, for 
from the first notification of the trouble he was con- 
vinced that he would be obliged to go. 

At the expiration of the hour he went back to Mr. 
Thayer’s office, and received from that gentleman an 
order for the month’s salary that was due, followed 
by the information that hereafter his services would 
not be acceptable. 


CHAPTER XX. 

DICK'S STORY. 

I F Aunt Penelope ever regretted her hasty decision 
in banishing her nephew she kept it to herself. 
From the day that he went forth from beneath the 
shelter of her roof it was understood that the name of 
Donald Bergh was not to be mentioned in her pres- 
ence. Christine became very restless under her Aunt s 
exacting rules, and day after day she watched the 
mail, hoping that some word from the wanderer 
might come, but the year wore slowly away with- 
out bringing so much as a line to the waiting girl. 
She missed Donald sadly, for since Dick had proven 
so reckless he had been more than a brother to her. 
When the second spring came round Dick burst in 
upon them unannounced and quite as suddenly as he 
had disappeared. Christine was delighted and gave 
him a warm reception, while Aunt Penelope stood 
looking upon the scene with darkening brow. 

“Will you not bid me welcome, Aunt Pen?” he 
said, advancing toward her with extended hand. 

“ No, I will not, Dick,” she replied, waving him 
back. 

“ Why not?” he asked, with much of his old inde- 
pendence. 

“ Is it possible, sir, that you have the impudence to 
come back after all that has passed?” she growled* 
indignantly. 


ISO 


DICK'S STOEY. 


131 


“ You are a little hard on a fellow to thus give him 
the cold shoulder when more than a year has passed 
since he ventured into your presence. You really 
ought to say something nice, if only as an induce- 
ment for him to try the same experiment again,” 
he said, not the least ruffled by her brusqueness. 

“ Humph ! I reckon he can be made stay away 
without so much ceremony. I am not glad to see 
you, Dick, and I am not in the habit of lying about 
such small things, as you are doubtless aware,” she 
snapped, as she returned to her easy chair in the 
corner. 

“You have always had the reputation of being 
truthful, Aunt, and I see you are not disposed to 
go back on your former good conduct now. I am 
glad you are so honest, and I will promise to make 
my visit to Christine very short.” 

“You never was much of a credit to the family, 
but that you should drag others down to your level 
was more than I expected. I wonder that you are 
not afraid to make your appearance in town. How 
do you know but that the police are on your track 
now?” 

“What do you mean, Aunt? Do explain yourself. 
I look as respectable as other young men of your 
acquaintance, do I not? Does Donald himself wear 
better clothes than the suit I now have on?” 

“Just listen to the fellow’s assurance. If it had 
not been for you that boy might have been in his 
place to day,” gasped the irritated woman. “ He 
never would have touched a dollar of t^at money 
if you had not dogged his steps continualiy. I said 
before, and I repeat it, Donald Bergh was only a tool 
in your hands. I do wonder that you are not afraid. 


132 


IN SEARCH OF A HOAIE. 


to return to the neighborhood where your crime is 
sLi.Il fresh in the minds of an indignant people,” 

“Crime! robbery! Pray enlighten me, Aunt,” 
exclaimed Dick, looking keenly at the old lady as 
she sat rocking to and fro. 

“Dear me! I wouldn’t suppose that you stood in 
need of much light on the subject. Did you reckon 
that a man would allow himself to be robbed of a 
hundred dollars without putting forth an effort to 
protect his own interest?” 

“I infer from vour remarks, Aunt, that somebody 
has been tampering with somebody’s money, and that 
Donald and myself have been credited with the theft. 
Is not that about the run of your story?” 

“ You really have made a very good guess, consid- 
ering the fact that you were wholly ignorant of the 
circumstances,” said Aunt Pen, with an insinuating 
nod. 

“ Guess or no guess, Aunt, I never knew a breath 
of the unfortunate affair until this minute. I hope 
Donald has not been punished for a crime he did not 
commit.” 

“You do not mean to say that you received no 
money from your Cousin during that mysterious trip 
that began at the door of the bank?” insisted the old 
woman, leaning forward so as to catch every word of 
his answer. 

“ He gave me money to buy a suit of clothes, or 
rather he went with me and pa ; d for such as I selected, 
for he would not trust me with the twenty dollar bill, 
which, he said, was a present from his Uncle Robert 
Lee.” 

“ There, Aunt ! I told you Donald was telling the 
truth, and you cannot help believing his st^ry now, 


DICK'S STO BY. 


133 


for Dick’s statement agrees with bis in every particu- 
lar,” cried Christine, who had been trying to choke 
back her sob3 for several minutes 

“Don’t be a fool, child!” retorted Aunt Pen. 
“ Don’t be a fool, I say. As if the two could 
not have planned their story together. Do you 
think they would be silly enough to part without 
having agreed what they would tell?” 

“ I assure you, Aunt, there was no arrangement of 
that kind between us. I asked him to lend me some 
money to take me away, so that I could begin a better 
life, and you know Donald never turned a deaf ear to 
my requests, no matter how absurb they were.” 

“ Are you quite sure that he did not meddle with 
the roll of bills in his pocket?” cried Aunt Pen, in 
excitement, grasping him tightly by the arm. 

“ Never was surer of any thing in my life, Aunt. 
In fact, I did not know that he had a roll of bills in hi3 
possession. I asked him if there would be any chance 
of getting aid from you, but he advised me not to 
come here. When I told him of my good resolution 
he mentioned the gift of his Uncle. He said he had 
been keeping it a secret, as he intended to make you 
and Christine handsome Christmas presents, but as no 
man could live a respectable life while clothed in rags 
he believed he would trust me with it, and he hoped I 
would try to live a better, truer life. So what would 
have gone to the purchase of some trinket for you 
went into a decent outfit for me. I did not get the 
clothes, however, until I had entered into a written 
contract to go away and stay until I could earn my 
own living in an honorable way. His faith in me 
inspired new confidence in my own hear*-, and now, 
after more than a year’s trial, I have come back to 


m 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


show you all what a miracle has been wrought by 
kindness, as well as to replace the money my Cousin 
expended upon me when he had very little reason to 
expect any good results to follow his self-denying 
act.” 

“And you believe Robert Lee sent him that 
money ? ” 

“I have not the least doubt of the fact, Aunt. 
Donald Bergh would scorn to touch a cent that did 
not belong to him, and you know it.” 

“ It is very singular that he kept such good news a 
profound secret so long,” snapped Aunt Pen, as she 
took up the knitting that had fallen from her hands 
upon Dick’s first entrance. 

Judging from the clash of his Aunt’s needles and 
the look of fierce determination upon her face that sbe 
had dismissed him from her thoughts for the present, 
Dick turned to Christine with : 

“Where is Donald now?” 

“That is just what I would like to know myself,” 
was Christine’s reply. .“He went away the very day 
that you left, and we have never heard a word from 
him since. He may be dead for all I know.” 

“Dead! not a bit of it. He’ll turn up all right 
some of these times,” interrupted Aunt Pen, but, 
though her words were indfierent, there was a 
tremor in her voice that showed she was by no 
means as heartless as she would have them believe. 

“And did Mr. Mannering really believe that he 
stole that hundred dollars. You have not told me 
abc-ut the circumstances,” said Dick, much con- 
cerned. 

Christine then related all the particulars of the 
unhappy affair, winding up with an indignant pro- 


DICK'S STORY. 


1S5 


test against the hasty decision of all who had in any 
way aided in his undeserved removal. 

“So, then, it is a case of pure circumstantial evi- 
dence, ” said Dick. “ I wonder Donald did not stand 
up for his rights, and demand a fair and impartial 
trial. He could not have been convicted upon such 
flimsy evidence.” 

“He did ask for a trial, but Mr. Mannering would 
not listen to him. He said such a procedure would 
only give publicity to the affair, and for Aunt’s sake 
such a scandal should be avoided,” Christine explained 
in a sarcastic voice. 

“Nothing shall be left undone to right this fearful 
wrong,” said Dick, rising and pacing the floor excit- 
edly. “ So this is the thanks he has received for the 
kindness shown me — this is the reward that Christian 
people have meted out to him for making a man of 
a poor outcast — one who had neither home nor 
friends.” 

After a few more vfords with Christine, who was as 
much exercised as himself, Dick announced his inten- 
tion of going back to the hotel, where he had left his 
baggage. 

“ You’ll do no such a thing,” said Aunt Pen. “ Go 
to the hotel, indeed ! A pretty story that would be 
to go to the world. You stop at a second-rate hotel, 
and your sister a member of my household! Send 
Abram over to that concern after your effects, and 
make yourself at home while you are here. I sup- 
pose you are not going to stay long.” 

“ No, Aunt, I will only trouble you a short time 
— shorter, indeed, than I had set, for I must get back 
to begin my search for Donald.” 

“When the boy is proven innocent will be time 


136 


IX SEARCH OF A HOME , 


enough to begin looking him up. Don’t you know, 
Dick, that your word would not be very weighty in 
court?” said Aunt Pen, a little tauntingly. 

Dick colored painfully at this home thrust, but he 
had net forgotten what a vagabond he used really to 
be, so he put away the harsh words that trembled 
upon his lips, and merely reiterated his determination 
to find his Cousin and set him right beiore the world. 
During his two weeks’ stay Aunt Pen did not men- 
tion Donald’s napie again, but Dick was satisfied that 
her apparent indifference was assumed, and that the 
exiled nephew occupied much of her thoughts. 

Dick’s religion was so different from Aunt Pen’s 
that he had not the heart to claim her kinship in 
Christ, and had it not been for his daily Bible read- 
ing he would have gone away without either of the 
women at home finding out the cause of the great 
change that had taken place in his conduct. 

“ How can you endure to read that dull, uninter- 
esting book?” asked Christine, coming into room, 
unexpectedly, one day. 

“ It is not dull, Chrissy, I love to read it,” was 
Dick’s reply. 

“ I am sure you did not think that way when Aunt 
Pen made you study your tasks,” sneered his sister. 

“ And if the reading were a set task it yet would 
be just as much of a burden as ever.” 

“Why, Dick, you frighten me,” cried Christine, 
striking a ridiculous attitude. “ If you keep on you'll 
be as bad as Aunt Pen. Whatever you do don’t get 
religion. It is an awful disease and one which will 
be apt to stick to you for life.” 

“What would you say were I to tell you that I 
had experienced the power of religion and that I 


DICK'S STORY. 


1ST 


am in possession of its enjoyments even now?” he 
asked. 

Christine looked at him steadily for a few moments,, 
not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and then, think- 
ing the whole thing a good joke, she laughed glee- 
fully. 

“ It is so ridiculous for you, Dick Jewell, to talk 
about having religion. Now, if it had been Donald, 
or Fred Mannering, or any of the boys, it would not 
have seemed so queer, but you, Dick — you are surely 
in fun — you do not mean for me to believe you ? ” 

“ I never was more in earnest in my life, Chrissy,”' 
said Dick, tenderly. And then he went on to tell her 
how he had found a Friend in Jesus, and how very 
different life seemed since he had something besides 
self to employ his thoughts. Turning suddenly to 
her, he said: — “I do wish you could have the help 
of my Saviour, little sister. You would never — never 
be lonely again.” 

“Hush, hush!” she exclaimed angrily, sticking her 
fingers in her ears. “ You can have religion, if you 
take to it so naturally, but Aunt Pen is all the Chris- 
tian we need around this house. One in a family i& 
enough at a time.” 

“ This is very wrong, Christine,” Dick answered, 
reproachfully. “ I do wish you could feel what a 
blessed thing it is to be a Christian.” 

“ There, there, Dick ! don’t preach. I cannot for- 
get what a bright example you used to be. Some of 
your capers were mean enough to make a heathen- 
blush. Keep your goodness to yourself, for I know 
of no one who needs a little humanizing worse than 
your.-eir,” was Christine’s impatient harangue. 

Dick’s face turned first very red, then very white. 


138 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


and he had to shut his lips tightly to keep back the 
burning words that as old Dick Jewell he wished so 
much to speak. He did not venture on this danger- 
ous ground agam, and a few days later he went back 
West, determined not to rest until he should succeed 
in finding Donald. When he passed through Chicago 
on his way back to Springfield, he was within half a 
dozen blocks of the object of his search, but, being 
ignorant of this fact, he continued his journey, and 
by carefully worded advertisements in a score of the 
Western dailies sought for the information he so 
longed to possess. 

Donald was not in the habit of glancing over the 
columns of “ Wanted” and “Lost,” and consequently 
remained in blissful ignorance of the praiseworthy 
efforts of his Cousin. 



CHAPTER XXI . 

THE MISSING LETTER . 


HE week after Dick went away from Aunt 

I Pen’s a circumstance occurred that Christine 
very much regretted he was not there to witness* 
Under Aunt Pen’s supervision, the young girl was 
engaged in taking up the sitting-room carpet for the 
annual house-cleaning. In lifting one of the news- 
papers that had served as carpet protector a letter fell 
from its folds upon the floor. As she picked it up 
Christine noticed that it was addressed to “ Donald 
Bergh,” and bore the post-mark of the village in 
which his Uncle Robert Lee had lived and died 
A close scrutiny of the date stamped upon the back 
showed it had been mailed on August 4, 18 — , the 
exact time, according to Donald’s testimony, vhen 
that fateful letter had been written. 

“ Aunt Pen, I do believe that I have found Don- 
ald’s long-lost letter,” she exclaimed, nervously. “ It 
surely looks like Mr. Lee’s writing.” 

“ Nothing of the sort, I’ll warrant. Things don’t 
turn up that way except in novels,” retorted Aunt 
Pen. “ Throw it in the . fire and attend to your 
work.” 

“ I can’t do that, for I am sure I’ve found what 
will clear him,” examining the letter more closely. 

“ The quickest way to decide that matter is to open 
and read it,” said Aunt Pen, extending her hand for 

139 . 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


UO 

the letter. “ You do not expect to find out any thing 
without examining the contents/’ 

Adjusting her spectacles, she took the sheet from 
the envelope, and after what seemed to Christine a 
wonderful long time read aloud : 

Bedford , Fa. } August 4, 18 — . 

My Dear Nephew: 

I enclose a twenty dollar bill for your birthday gift. 
Trusting that, you will find as much pleasure in .receiving 
as I do in giving, I close my brief letter by wishing you 
many returns of the happy occasion. With much love I 
remain Your Affectionate Uncle, Kobert Lee. 

“ Well, it does beat all! Iiow do you suppose it 
ever got there?” was Aunt Pen’s exclamation. 

“ It must have been concealed somehow in the folds 
of the paper,” Christine said, as she took up the jour- 
nal. “The date corresponds with that of the letter,” 
she added, running her eyes over the head lines. 

“Strange, indeed! If I had only known this 
sooner; but who would have thought of looking for 
a missing letter under the carpet ? I mind now of 
asking Donald to bring an armful of papers down 
from the garret to put under the carpet when we 
cleaned the room. He must have put some of his 
own among them. Yes, you see this is a daily; and 
I never took one of those scandalous sheets in my life. 
That is just the way it all came abuit, but it is mon- 
strous strange. I wish I had known it sooner.” 

“You remember I reminded you of D nald's hon- 
esty at the time, Aunt Pen. I was confident that he 
was being wronged when you sent him aw r ay, and I'll 
always be thankful that I protested against the way 
he wa3 treated,” said Christine, enjoying immensely 
her Aunt’s evident regret. 


THE MISSING LETTER . 


HI 


“Christine Jewell, I wish you to remember that 
you are talking to your betters. It makes no differ- 
ence in the case what you thought or said at the 
time. It was all a .mistake on my part, and Donald 
would not blame me if he were here at this moment. 
He never was the least bit like yon — never.” 

“ Indeed, he was not, Aunt Pen. If he had been, 
he would have made you and old Mannering prove 
your scandalous charge, or take it back and pay 
damages for the injury you had done,” answered 
Christine, her black eyes snapping with just indig- 
nation. 

“And how am I to know that he is innocent even 
now?” retorted Aunt Pen, with much warmth. “If 
Bobert Lee did send him twenty dollars, how do I 
know that Mr. Mannering’s money was not used to 
purchase finery for Dick ? It is still more than prob- 
able that he helped himself to that roll of money he 
carried. Dick’s word does not amount to much at 
any rate.” 

Christine flushed hotly at this uncharitable thrust 
at her brother. She was well aware that Dick’s repu- 
tation for veracity was not the best — or it had not 
been in the old days — but a radical change had come 
over him during the months of his absence — he was 
even a professing Christian, with much more of its 
spirit than Aunt Pen exhibited herself; besides, he 
never had been good at acting, and any one could 
have told from his looks that the story of Donald’s 
theft was a genuine surprise to him. Christine knew 
that Aunt Pen believed Donald’s story, and she was 
angry at the deceit she was practising. 

“ You know better than that, Aunt,” she said, look- 
ing the old woman squarely in the eyes. “You do 


j 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


142 

believe that Dick told the truth — you know it, and it 
is not right for you to continue your persecutions of 
him when he has reformed.” 

“Well, now, I should say that you are making 
a fool of yourself, Christine. Your preaching will 
never amount to much until you change your life, 
and act in a manner becoming a person. I said 
before, and I say again, Dick is not to be trusted. 
I take no stock in his pretended reformation.” 

But in spite of her assertion she carried the letter 
to Mr. Mannering, and in his presence stated her 
belief in Donald’s integrity. 

Dick’s story had impressed the merchant strangely, 
and the discovery of the letter went far towards con- 
firming his statement ; still that hundred dollars must 
be accounted for, and it lay between Donald and Mr. 
Bateman — a man of unimpeachabie character. After 
studying the matter over carefully, he shook his head 
gravely, saying : 

“My dear madam, much as I would like to remove 
this stigma from the name of your nephew, until some- 
thing turns up to show the whereabouts of the missing 
money I cannot take such a step as you desire with- 
out compromising a man of sterling integrity. Just 
let the matter rest awhile. Waiting can do Donald 
no further harm than has already befallen him; 
besides, we do not know where to find him were 
hi3 innocence clearly proven.” 

“In these days of railroads and telegraphs it is 
almost impossible for one to be entirely lost — at 
least, folks who are trying to hide from justice are 
not generally very successful in their efforts,” returned 
Aunt Pen, a little sharply. 

“ That is true ; but in this case, what would we do 


THE MISSING LETTER. 


US' 

with the found youth if, after all, we were unable to 
establish his innocence? Don’t you see, madam, that 
we have no proof, I mean conclusive proof, that he did 
not meddle with that hundred dollars? That letter 
would establish nothing in the eyes of the law.” 

“ It shows that he told the truth, and accounts for 
the money he gave Dick at any rate,” snapped Aunt 
Pen, indignantly. 

“It proves that, but it don’t explain how he 
expended the money taken from that roll of bills 
intrusted to his care. Don’t you see the testimony 
is not broad enough to cover the whole case? Just 
have patience a little longer, and maybe some new 
developments may be made,” said Mr. Mannering, 
speaking in a hopeful voice. 

“There’s Dick’s word to back the letter up,” sug- 
gested Aunt Pen. 

“O, O, yes! Dick’s word to be sure! But then 
you know that hereabouts Dick’s word don’t amount 
to much,” returned Mr. Mannering, with a cynical 
smile. 

“ I believe the boy is all right now. He has sowed 
considerable wild oats in his time, but all young fel- 
lows do that, and I trust Dick has finished planting 
his crop,” was Aunt Pen’s answer. 

“ 1 trust he has, but somebody will have to reap 
the wild crop he has sown, and if we believe the Bible 
we must expect that this reaper must be Dick himself. 

1 wish the young man well, but I must be allowed to 
take his word at considerable discount, Mrs. Garth,” 
said the merchant, bowing pleasantly. 

“Good afternoon, sir!” was Aunt Pen’s reply, as 
she turned away and walked stiffly out of the door. 

After this, though they frequently met, the subject 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


was not discussed again, and right or wrong, poor 
Donald seemed to have passed completely out of 
their lives. 

But there came a time — it was a sultry morning in 
August — when the doors of the Citizen’s National 
Bank did not yield to the pressure of the outside 
world, and those who had money invested turned 
away sick at heart. Before the sun went down it 
was generally known that the cashier was missing, 
and with him half a million of the people’s money 
had disappeared. 

An investigation of the books revealed the startling 
fact that a systematic robbery had been in progress 
for a number of years, and that the thief was no less 
a distinguished gentleman than Mr. Bateman, the 
honest, upright, unimpeachable man, whose integrity 
no one, heretofore, even dared to call in question. 

That afternoon Mr. Mannering came to Aunt Ben 
with a solution of the mystery that had been puzzling 
them both for so long. 

Said the old man, when speaking of their great 
mistake: 

“ We have wronged Donald, wronged him deeply, 
and the fault was all my own. I considered Mr. 
Bateman the very soul of honor, and it was my 
short-sighted convictions that misled you. This cat- 
astrophe will cripple me badly, but I deserve to suffer 
for the way I set that boy adrift. I mean to look 
him up right away, and he can have his choice of 
positions in the establishment, which was never in a 
more prosperous condition than at this present time.” 

“ Little use there’ll be in your search. Dick has 
been looking for him high and low for the last six 
months, but not a breath of him has he heard. He 


THE MISSING LETTER. 


145 


seems to be as completely lost as if dead and hid away 
under the ground.” 

“ I’ll find him ; trust me for that. Dick has not 
the money at hand to make a successful search, but 
if it takes every jdollar I have I’ll find him,” said Mr. 
Mannering, hopefully. 

“If he is living,” returned Aunt Pen, doleful'/. 

“O! he is living, of course. You don’t catch 
hearty, industrious lads like him dying till their 
time comes,” laughed Mr. Mannering. 

“Iam sure I hope that you will be successful, but 
things do not look very flattering,” was Aunt Pen’s 
rejoiner. “This thing of misjudging people becomes 
quite serious sometimes.” 

“You are right, madam. I feel like a criminal 
to-night myself, but I was honest in my convictions, 
and thought I was doing my duty ; but the best of us 
may be mistaken.” 

“Best or worst, you and I have had a lesson on 
charity that we will not soon forget,” argued Aunt 
Pen, spitefully. 

“ I hope their consciences will keep them from rest- 
ing for a few nights. They both deserve to suffer, 
and they will. See if they don’t,” soliloquized Chris- 
tine, who had arranged her work so as to be in the 
vicinity of the door during their discussion. She was 
not rejoicing over the downfall of poor Mr. Bateman, 
but she was really glad that something had occurred 
to open Mr. Mannering’s eyes. “Things have just 
turned out as Donald said they would,” she said 
aloud. “ He always thought that Mr. Bateman had 
not given him enough bills, and now it is proven.” 

“ If I should take a notion to run down to Chicago in 
the morning I will let you know,” said Mr. Mannering, 


I 


146 IN’ SEARCH OF A HOME . 

“Very well; although I do not know that any 
thing that I can do would be of service to you,” said 
Aunt Pen. 

“Keep up a good heart and all will be right,” 
was Mr. Mannering’s response, as he bowed himself 
out. 




4 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A VISIT TO TEE Y. M. C. A. 

OR a few moments after Mr. Thayer had pro- 
nounced his doom Donald stood gazing in a 
bewildered way into his face ; then he turned 
away and walked slowly down the long store room like 
one in a dream. At the door he staggered forward and 
would have fallen had he not caught hold of the railing 
for support. Feeling faint and dizzy, he leaned heavily 
against the stone pillar, uncertain what to do next. 
The keen frosty air revived him and brought back to 
his memory the cause of his sudden illness. He drew 
his hand across his forehead a time or two to make 
sure that he was really awake. Satisfied that he was 
not under the influence of a horrible nightmare, he 
called his energies into active play, and w r as soon suffi- 
cently revived to trust himself to mingle with the 
passing crowd. This was the second time that he 
had been driven from his employment by the same 
base calumny. He had thought the old story was 
destined to die a natural death — that, at least, he 
was out of reach of its blighting power — but here, 
after lying quiet for nearly two years, it had come 
up against him, with even more deadly effect than 
before, and again he was a wanderer, without home 
and without friends. He understood to whom he was 
indebted for this cruel blow; by degrees he was learn- 
ing how deep was the hatred of this man who had 

147 


148 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


wronged iiim so terribly once before, and be felt bitter 
towards that one who, with all the advantages life 
possessed, insisted in taking from him the one thing 
he held most sacred on earth — his good name. He 
had but few intimate associates in the city, and even 
these he did not wish to meet under the circumstances 
that compelled him to go. Feeling under obligations 
to bid his instructor good-by, he went round to his 
office to tell him that he was going away. The 
old man inquired into the cause of the sudden 
arrangement, and when he heard the pitiful story, 
he denounced the whole of his persecutors, and said 
he would take his word in preference to all the 
evidence that could be heaped up against him by 
the other side. Said he : 

“ I am determined to look into the merits of this 
case, and I feel confident that I can compel thesi 
people to clear your name of the stigma, which, 
through their influence, has been attached to it. 
Right will always triumph in the end. Keep up 
your spirits, boy, and all will be well.” 

But all was not well, for in the rush of business 
and family turmoil the old man forgot that this poor, 
friendless youth was looking to him for redress. For 
a few weeks after Donald left the city, he kept look- 
ing anxiously for the letter that he hoped would set 
him right before the world, but it never came, and at 
length, grown weary with his usele 3 s vigil, he con- 
tinued his travels westward, hoping, somewhere in the 
growing cities, to find a place that he might hide 
away from his persecutors and be at rest. He knew 
that he was tired and discouraged, but, until he awoke 
one morning with a burning skin and a racking pain 
in his head, he did not understand that his unusual 


A VISIT TO THE Y. M. C. A . 149 

depression had been caused by the disease lurking in 
his system. He had only expected to spend the night 
in that little inland town, where a change of cars was 
necessary, but for weeks he was destined to lie, moan- 
ing and tossing, upon the hard bed in the one little 
hotel the village afforded. When at last he was able 
to be around again, he found that his savings of the 
two years was well-nigh gone, and that, regardless of 
the condition of his health, he would be obliged to go 
to work as soon as possible. 

Without any definite purpose in view, he took the 
first train to Springfield, and was soon afterwards 
comfortably settled in a quiet, homelike hotel. For 
several days he kept up an unsuccessful search for 
employment, each succeeding evening returning to 
his room more and more discouraged and home- 
sick. 

One afternoon, having determined to seek his for- 
tune in a Southern city, he went down to the office to 
inquire what time the train for that place would take 
its departure. 

“Indeed, I cannot tell you, but you will find a 
correct time-table in this paper,” said the clerk, hand- 
ing him the morning daily. 

Donald was not long in ascertaining that the only 
through train running to the point he wished to reach 
would not leave until the next morning. Glancing 
hurriedly over the paper, his eyes fell upon this item 
of news:— “Y. M. C. A. meets to-night at 7 P. M. 
in its rooms over Music Hall. All the young men 
in the city cordially invited. A special invitation 
extended to strangers. Do not fail to come. A good 
time is anticipated ” 

“III go,” said Donald to himself, brightening up 


150 IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 

a little. “ I never was in such a place in my life, 
and the experience will have the virtue of being 
novel, at least. It is kind of the club, or whatever 
they call it, to pay any attention to strangers, and it 
cannot prove duller than my own brooding promises 
to do. Yes, I have made up my mind, and if some- 
thing very important does not interfere I will go and 
see what good these fellows can do me.” 

ISTothing so important as to make him break his 
promise did occur; so, promptly at the hour desig- 
nated, he presented himself at the door of the room 
mentioned, and was shown to a seat by the courteous 
usher. The room, though large, was filling up rapidly, 
and every one who came in seemed to carry sunshine 
in his face. 

“ You are a stranger among us, and we not only 
bid you welcome, but wish you to feel at home,” said 
a pleasant voice, as a young man handed him a hymn 
book. Then he passed on with bright, cheery words 
to others — perhaps, just as lonely and home sick as 
he was himself. 

Scarcely had the young man taken his seat when 
a voice clear and ringing began to sing : 

‘‘Yes, for me, for me he careth 
With a brother’s tender care; 

Yes, with me, with me he shareth 
Every burden, every fear.” 

As soon as the words ended the leader said in a 
low but very distinct voice: — “We want the presence 
of our Saviour throughout every moment of this meet- 
ing. Let us ask him to come into our hearts at the 
very beginning of the hour.” 

Instantly every head was bowed, and then in ear- 
nest, pleading tones the leader asked that every one 


A VISIT TO THE Y. M. C. A. 


151 


in the house might receive the very blessing he most 
needed. 

I .said every head was bowed. I should have 
excepted Donald Bergh’s, for, in spite of all the 
courtesy that had been shown him since entering, 
there he sat — bolt upright, staring at the curly head 
bowed upon the leader’s desk. A thunder-bolt out of 
a clear sky would have seemed as much out of place 
as that face and voice at a prayer-meeting, for much 
as he tried to convince himself that he was mistaken 
he knew that it was his Cousin Dick who occupied 
the leader’s chair and prayed as though it was a ser- 
vice he very much enjoyed. After a verse of 

“Each day to live for Jesus,” 

there was a service of voluntary prayer, and this time 
Donald managed to get his head down with the rest. 
But, though the petitions were fervent and impor- 
tunate, except that they were brief and pointed, he 
could not have told how they differed from the most 
ordinary ones that he had been accustomed to hear 
in the little old-fashioned chapel at home. 

After this Dick read the last few verses of the 
eighth chapter of Romans — then there was more 
singing — a few brief remarks and recitations of 
Scripture verses — followed by another season of 
prayer. Before the hour expired Dick stood up 
and said it was time for the Strangers’ Service, and 
he hoped many who were present would feel so much 
at home as to offer a prayer or speak a few words for 
the Master. 

Several of the young men who had enjoyed the 
hour took this opportunity to express their gratitude 
and bid their Christian brothers God-speed. Donald 


152 


IN SEARCH OF A HOIJE. 


would like to have added his testimony, but as he was 
not a Christian he feared that it would not be just 
the right thing to do. The last song announced was 
Miss Havergal’s familiar Consecration Hymn, begin- 
ning: 

“Take ray life and let it be 
Consecrated Lord to thee.” 

Up to this time Donald had not joined in the sing- 
ing, but this hymn had been a favorite with his mother 
— they had often sung it together before she died — 
and now for the first time in years his clear, rich 
voice helped to swell the sweet strains arising from 
more than a hundred lips. 

Dick could have told that voice among a thousand, 
but it was a little more difficult for his eyes to select 
its owner from among the score of strangers scattered 
here and there among the young men of his acquaint- 
ance. For a moment he looked bewildered, and then 
his blue eyes met a pair of honest dark ones, which, 
though set in a very pale face, he recognized at once. 
Scarcely had the last strain of the organ died away 
before he had, reached his Cousin’s side and taken 
his hand in a warm, loving grasp. 

“ O, Donald ! Is it possible that after all my long, 
wearisome search I have found you right here at 
home?” he cried, his voice full of suppressed emo- 
tion. 

“ You surely have found me, Dick, or rather I have 
found you, for I have not been able to take my eyes 
off you since I came in,” answered Donald. 

“Well, I am rejoiced to see you again, no matter 
how the meeting was brought about,” said Dick. 
“But you look pale. Have you been sick?” he 
asked, anxiously. 


A VISIT TO THE Y. M. C. A. 153 

“ I am just getting over a spell of fever— in fact, I 
am a little shaky yet,” said Donald. 

“You must come right home with me,” replied 
Dick. “I have news for you that will soon bring 
the color back to your face,” he added, slipping his 
Cousin’s arm within his own. 

Dick was still an inmate of the Ktnt household, 
and the room to which he introduced his guest was a 
marvel — not of grandeur, but of beautiful simplicity 
and comfort. 

Donald sank into the easy-chair which Dick had 
drawn close up to the bright, sparkling fire, and there, 
with flushed face and throbbing heart, Donald listened 
to the revelation that Dick had to make. He com- 
menced with an account of his own visit home, and 
the surprise his story gave Aunt Pen and Mr. Man- 
nering. Then he related the story of the lost letter 
and recounted the links in the chain of evidence 
which its mysterious finding supplied. After this he 
told the sad tale of Mr. Bateman’s blighted life and 
the disclosures made by his flight. 

“And now,” said he, “after eight months of anxi- 
ous search, I rejoice to be the bearer of such good 
news to one who suffered so much on my account. ’ 

“ It is good news, Dick, and I can never thank you 
enough for standing up so bravely for me,” replied 
Donald. 

“ As though 1 did not owe every thing I am and 
possess to your kindness, Donald. You trusted me 
even when I had no faith in myself, and the thought 
that you expected me to stand up for the right has 
helped me over many a hard, rough place.” 

“ I am glad that I have been able to help you in 
the least, Dick, but 1 am sure that you have gone on 


154 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


far in advance of me in the line you occupied to- 
night.” 

“That, under God, I owe to the Christian home- 
life of the family that resides under this roof. I 
never knew before what practical religion meant. 
You know I had no exalted views of Aunt Pen’s 
■creeds and catechism, but when I came here, bruised 
and sick, I learned something of the power of sym- 
pathy and appreciation ; but you must have the experi- 
ence that has been mine before you can realize the 
blessings I have enjoyed.” 

It was the first time in his life that Donald gave 
his confidence to his Cousin Dick, but before they 
closed their eyes that night he was free to admit to 
himself that no better fellow than this impulsive, 
warm-hearted kinsman was alive. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

NEW FRIENDS AND OLD. 

Donald awoke in the morning he 
\\/ was unable to rise. The exertion and joy 

r t of the evening had proven too much for 
him in his weakened condition. 

“ I fear I am in for another spell of fever,” he said, 
as Dick heaped more coal on the grate, and in his 
blundering way tried to tuck the blankets more closely 
around the shivering patient. 

“It is one of those mean chills that infests our 
climate. Just listen how your teeth chatter,” replied 
Dick. 

“ If I am to be sick again I’ll go to the hospital at 
once ” began Donald, remembering the low state of 
his finances. 

“You will go to no hospital while you are a guest 
of mine,” said Dick, positively. “ That would be a 
pretty story, indeed, after all the trouble I have had 
in hunting you up. You will just lie here and get 
well and strong, and it will take no great length of 
time, either.” 

Donald tried to reply, but he was shaking so hard 
that he had to give up his efforts to talk and let Dick 
run things to suit himself. This the good-hearted 
fellow did by bringing Dr. Kent up-stairs to prescribe 
for the sufferer. 


155 


156 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME , 


“You have talked him almost to death, Dick,” said 
the Doctor dryly, with his finger on the patient's 
bounding pulse. “Hereafter you must be more 
considerate. Remember your friend has been sick, 
and cannot endure as much as a robust fellow like 
you. However, a few days* rest and a good tonic 
will set him on his feet again.” . 

“ If you think I am going to have a long sick- 
spell, Doctor, I wish you to tell me the truth,” 
Donald urged, looking the medical gentleman square 
in the face. 

“No more of your nonsense about going to the 
hospital,” replied the Doctor. “You see Dick has 
been telling tales,” laughingly. 

“ But really, Doctor, I would prefer — ” 

“ I am the Doctor, and I prefer that you remain 
just where you are for the present. If you obey me 
you will be about in a few days, but if you go to the 
hospital you will die,” interrupted the Doctor. 

“ I am sure you are right,” said Dick, giving the 
Doctor a grateful look. “Donald must submit to 
your judgment, if he will not to mine.” 

Donald smiled, wondering how much of the Doctor’s 
judgment Dick had helped to form on this occasion, 
but he wisely concluded not to wound his Cousin’s 
feelings by trying any farther to carry his point. 

A few minutes after the Doctor had gone a bright 
face peeped in at the open door, and a cheery voice 
said : — “ Here is some medicine that mamma sent 
your patient, Dick, and she hopes he will pay her the 
compliment to swallow it.’’ 

“ Come in and see that he takes it according to 
your mother’s prescription,” said Dick. “ This is the 
long-lost friend of whom you have heard me speak, 
Bessie. Will you not welcome him?” 


NEW FRIENDS AND OLD. 157 

“ Indeed, I will, Dick — ” but an exclamation from 
tbe sick friend caused her to stop abruptly. 

“ I am sure we have met before,” said Donald, 
recovering his self-possession first. 

“I never have forgotten the voice that gave me 
such a thrill of gratitude on that awful night,” gasped 
Bessie, changing color. 

“Nor have I forgotten the face that was turned so 
pleadingly to me,” returned Donald, with a warm 
grasp of the hand. 

“ And you never told me of your adventure, 
Bessie,” said Dick, reproachfully. 

“ I never thought of my gallant knight and your 
Cousin being the self-same person, Dick. Had I 
known it you may be very certain that I would not 
have allowed him to leave my Uncle’s door without 
telling him something about his Cousin Dick.” 

“You forget that I do not understand how he came 
to be at your Uncle’s door,” was Dick’s response. 

“How very thoughtless I am,” said Bessie, and 
then, in as few words as possible, she recounted the 
circumstance under which the meeting had taken 
place. 

Before the day was over Donald wa3 convinced 
that Dick had not overdrawn the picture of the sweet 
home-life of this happy family. As he lay there in 
the gathering twilight he went over the scenes of 
the day, and wondered if it could be religion that 
made the difference between the Kent household and 
other families of his acquaintance. I do not wish to 
make the impression that perfect harmony existed 
between the various members of this model home 
at all times. They were human — -just like you and 
j — and had their likes and dislikes — their eccentrici- 


158 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


ties and prejudices — as other mortals have theirs, but 
they were practical Christians, and the Golden Rule as 
given by their common Master was their rule of faith 
and practice, and by its constant application much of 
the friction and jarring incident to human life were 
prevented. 

If Dick thought that Sunshine Bessie fitted so 
admirably into the niche that she had chosen among 
the Kings Daughters, he was equally well pleased 
with the self-possessed, exacting Gladys presiding 
over hospitals and orphans’ homes, but he never 
had become quite reconciled to the beautiful, gifted, 
but rather inconsistent, Helen’s place among the 
sewers. She might have belonged to the Singing 
Ten, for she could warble like a bird herself; or she 
might have been a member of the Flower Mission 
Ten, for she possessed exquisite taste, and her face 
was as fair as the fairest of lilies, but to see her stitch- 
ing away on some coarse garment, pricking her deli- 
cate fingers, often until the blood stained the cotton 
fabric upon which she was working, put him in mind 
of the stories he had read of the penance required 
of young novices in the convents. If there was one 
thing of which Gladys was less tolerant than another, 
it was the constant flow of sunshine that emanated 
from her bright young sister Bessie. 

One evening, after Donald was able to walk down 
to the parlor, Gladys brought her sewing and sat 
down by the window to entertain him. It was a 
bright, sunshiny day, and the young folks were 
engaged in a quiet game on the lawn. Presently, 
like fairy music, Bessie’s sweet voice came floating 
in at the half-open door. 

“ How that child can be so light-hearted when there 


NEW FRIENDS AND OLD. 


159 


is so much misery in the world, and so much work 
waiting to be done, I cannot conceive,” said Gladys, 
closing the door to shut out the happy strains. After 
a moment’s thought she added, “She has no more 
idea of the responsibilities of life than a bird warb- 
ling and carolling songs, free as the air, from morning 
to night.” 

“Is that not the most philosophical thing to do- 
under the circumstances?” asked Louis, glancing up 
into his sister’s troubled face. 

“I can see no philosophy in turning one’s back 
upon the grim realities of life. It is braver to face 
them with a fixed purpose of obtaining a victory.” 

“ Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow * r 
they toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say 
unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was 
not arrayed like one of these,” repeated Louis, with 
a joyous ring in his voice. 

“ Do you think, Louis, that by these words our 
Saviour meant to teach us that we were to put 
forth no efforts to procure the ordinary comforts of 
life? Has he not given many lessons to encourage 
us to help ourselves?” and there was a touch of impa- 
tience in the young girl’s voice that worried Louis. 
However, having taken up the younger sister’s defence, 
he answered softly : 

“ I think our precious Lord, while laying down our 
duty regarding the work he wishes us to accomplish, 
gives us exceedingly plain directions not to worry or 
grow impatient over its fulfilment.” 

“ But is it right for some to bear the burdens, while 
others enjoy the pleasures of a life that should be 
equally shared?” inquired Gladys, snapping her 
thread a little vindictively. 


160 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


“ It is not always those who perform the most labor 
that render the best service,” answered Louis. “ Has 
not a merry laugh or a sweet song a mission to per- 
form, as well as a neatly kept house, an inviting 
dinner or a heap of warm clothiug for an orphans’ 
home? Has not Bessie’s charming ways and cheery 
voice much to do with keeping the furrows from father’s 
brow and the wrinkles from mother’s cheeks, as well 
as bringing joy and sunshine into the home? Do not 
forget that while you may minister in a wearisome 
way, they may also serve who only stand and wait.” 

“Do you suppose, brother, that it is to this idle 
service that our Lord refers when he says, ‘ Go work 
in my vineyard ? ’ ” asked Gladys. 

“ I do not wish to distress you, Gladys, for I appre- 
ciate the noble work you accomplish, but sometimes 
I cannot help but think that if the Master should 
come suddenly upon the earth he would say to you as 
he said to Martha, ‘Thou art careful and troubled 
about many things!’ Bessie is surely in possession 
of the one thing needful, and she enjoys the better 
part that cannot be taken away from her!” was the 
decision of Louis. 

“What is your opinion on this troublesome sub- 
ject?” asked Gladys, turning her eyes upon Donald. 

For a few moments he sat as if in deep study, and 
then he said, truthfully: — “I am a stranger to the 
experience of religion, but if I have an opinion at 
all on the subject, I am compelled to say that I like 
Bessie’s kind the best. My mother was a true Chris- 
tian, and I believed in her faith, but since I have 
been knocking about the world I have seen so much 
of the inconsistencies of church members' that it ha3 
taken a full week in this happy home, that breathes 


NEW FRIENDS AND OLD. 


161 


of heaven, to restore my faith in the Christian religion* 
Dick told me before I had been in the house an hour 
that he owed his conversion to this family's Christian 
living. He said he did not so much believe in preach- 
ing Christ as living Christ, and I believe in Dick’s 
religion.” 

“ What a beautiful testimony to a Christian home,” 
assented Gladys. 

“ And it was the thoughts of this bright home and 
| the sunshine of Bessie’s patient endeavors to coax me 

back to a pure and holy living that arrested my way- 
ward feet while a wanderer, and brought me back a 
broken-hearted penitent,” declared Louis softly, while 
* the tears trickled slowly down his cheeks. 

I “ Flowers wither and die if denied sunshine and 

shower,” murmured Gladys. “It must be so with 
hearts, too. Who knows but that more of enjoying 
and less of serving might please my Maker better, 
while adding more enjoyment to the home-life at the 
same time?” 





CHAPTER XXIV . 

THE TANGLES STRAIGHTENED OUT 

"g" MUST dispatch to Aunt Pen the first thing in 
I the. morning. It would be too bad to keep 
her waiting the slow motions of the mail for 
such good news,” was what Dick told himself the last 
thing before he closed his eves on that eventful night. 
He was in earnest, but in the morning when he found 
how ill Donald really was he determined to write a let- 
ter and thus give the sufferer -a few days to recuperate* 
After the letter was written he carried it about in his 
pocket several days, not wishing to give Aunt Pen 
undue anxiety concerning the issue of her nephew’s 
sickness. *As soon as Donald was able to walk down 
stairs and take his meals with the family the mail 
carried the welcome message to the old homestead. 

Aunt Pen had been unusually cross and irritating 
that morning and took the letter out of Abram’s hand 
with a jerk. Adjusting her glasses in a very leisurely 
way, she proceeded to examine the envelope carefully 
before breaking the seal. 

“ It’s from Dick. I reckon he’s after money or 
something as valuable again. He never writes to 
me unless he is wanting something.” 

“ Perhaps, he has news of Donald,” suggested 
Christine. 

“ Nonsense! That is all you can think about,” 
was Aunt Pen’s curt rejoiner; but in spite of her 

162 


THE TANGLES STRAIGHTENED OUT. 163 

apparent indifference she tore open the letter and 
glanced hastily over its contents. Christine saw the 
change that passed over her countenance and knew 
instinctively that her guess had been correct. 

“ He has found Donald at last,” said she, her old 
eyes sparkling with pleasure. “But you need not 
think that your smartness had any thing to do with 
it,” she added, with a side glance at Christine’s beam- 
ing countenance. ' 

“ Here, take the letter and read it for yourself. I 
must go at once to consult with Mr. Mannering.” 

“ Better let me bring him here, madam. The pave- 
ments are mighty splashy just now,” said Abram. 

“You’d better attend to your own business, sir. I 
suppose I am capable of arranging my own affairs, 
and I said I was going down to see Mr. Mannering, 
and I am. So there!” snapped the old woman. 

“Then let me bring the carriage round for your 
accommodation,” insisted Abram. “This weather is 
had for your rheumatism.” 

‘•Do you think I am a useless invalid, not able 
to walk a few rods?” asked the irritable woman. 
“ Christine, don’t devour that letter. You have had 
plenty of time to master its contents. Go up-stairs 
and bring my wraps, and don’t be all day about it, 
either.” 

Christine was too happy just then to retort, or even 
prolong her absence, .as was her custom when her 
Aunt used that tone in commanding her, and in ten 
minutes after the arrival of the letter Aunt Pen was 
on her way to Mr. Mannering’s office. 

“Just listen what Dick writes,” she said, after 
making known her business: — “You would not know 
him, Aunt Pen. He has been shaking with the ague 


164 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


until he can scarcely walk alone. A few months ago 
he was dismissed from the firm of Thayer & Company, 
of Chicago, through the influence of that detestable 
sneak, Gerald Eadie, who once before almost ruined 
his prospects in life. And the worst thing about the 
whole thing was, he was discharged on the strength 
of the current rumors about his connection with the 
swindling of Mannering & Company. I tried to 
induce him to go home and recruit a few weeks,, 
but he said, in a determined way, ‘ You do not know 
me, Dick, if you think me capable of doing such a 
thing. I would die in the poor-house before I would 
ask favors of those who have ruined me.’ And when 
. I come to think of it, I believe he is right.” 

“He will never be obliged to ask any one for 
favors, but in his own right he must come back to 
an inheritance that belongs to him by right,” Mr. 
Mannering said decidedly, as he brought his fist 
down on the desk by way of emphasis. 

“ I think I will go to him myself,” remarked Aunt 
Pen, refolding the letter and returning it to ita 
envelope. 

“ Best leave him to me,” insisted Mr. Mannering. 
“ Travelling does not fatigue me, and I’ll bring him 
back to you in less than a week. You see, I feel 
that his trouble must all be traced back to me. It 
was I who injured him most deeply, for I ought to 
have had more confidence in a lad who had never 
deceived me. I have been punished for my unjust 
judgment, deservedly, I must admit. If I had lis- 
tened to that hoy’s words about that scoundrel, Bate- 
man, I would have been a richer man to-day.” 

“ He did seem to understand the rascal better than 
other folks, hut I suppose it was just guess work witk 
him, too,” assented Aunt Pen. 


THE TANGLES STRAIGHTENED OUT. 165 ' 

44 Certainly, certainly! But somehow, like Cbrissy 
about his guilt, he made a mighty good guess,” 
chuckled Mr. Mannering. 44 1 tell you that girl 
has got grit in her. My! didn't she read my title 
clear that day she came to see me about Donald s 
going away. She is an odd genius.” 

44 She is as headstrong as a mule,” retorted Aunt 
Pen. 44 If she has an opinion, she has it, and nobody 
can change it. I tell you I have had a wonderful 
amount of trouble with that girl.” 

44 She is very set in her way I have noticed, but she 
is generally pretty nearly right, after all, Aunt Pen,” 
replied Mr. Mannering, with a positive nod. 

44 About Donald I wish to say a few things before 
I go,” said Aunt Pen, with an impatient movement, 
as if desirous of changing the subject. 44 Bring him 
home right away if he is able to come, and as it is he 
I don't mind your telling that I am sorry that I had 
any hand in sending him away. He is proud and 
may refuse to come back, but when he understands 
all he will see how we have been deceived.” 

Early in the afternoon of the following day Mr. 
Mannering presented himself at the residence of Dr. 
Kent and held a brief, but very touching, interview 
with Donald Bergh. Dick protested against the sum- 
mary manner in which the old man proposed to carry 
off his guest, but as Donald made no serious objec- 
tions to the journey he was obliged to bid him good- 
b y, and go back to his counting desk. Twenty-four 
hours later Mr. Mannering finished his part of the 
contract by leaving his charge in the care of the old 
woman who had aided him in defrauding the orphan 
of his good name. 

Aunt Pen never had been accused of being demon- 


166 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


strative, but on this occasion she gave unmistakable 
signs of possessing a heart like other people, while 
Christine, who had been his staunch friend and 
defender during all the trying days of his exile, 
lost her usual composure and broke down entirely. 

Nourishing food and good nursing soon brought 
back the color to the invalid’s cheeks, and when 
Dick came home to help eat the Christmas turkey 
the young folks enjoyed the most cheering time that 
had ever been experienced in the quiet, staid, uncon- 
genial home. 

It was during this visit that [the boys put their 
heads together and arranged to send Christine away 
to boarding school. 

“She has been penny-dog here long enough, and 
if Aunt Pen won’t bear her expenses I will do it 
myself,” said Dick, with a determined look in his 
face. 

“ I will help you, Dick,” said Donald. “ Christine 
has been a faithful friend to me, and she shall lose 
nothing by her fidelity.” 

Much to their surprise Aunt Pen offered no objec- 
tion to their plan. She admitted that the girl had 
been a trustworthy helper and had well-earned a little 
respite from toil and care. The necessary means for 
her support while at school she furnished without 
comment, and though her ideas of a school-girl’s ward- 
robe were rather limited, Christine’s outfit was quite 
respectable, after the donations received from her 
brother and Cousin. Her pride centred in the fl°ecy 
folds of a soft woollen fabric that Donald had ordered 
from the city, while over Dick’s gay colored silk, 
with its flashy trimmings, she shed many a useless 
tear. 


I 


THE TANGLES STRAIGHTENED OUT. 167 

“ The poor fellow has not the least bit of taste,” she 
said, displaying the elegant dress to a friend. “ The 
idea of a black gypsy like me wearing sky-blue. I 
will lay it away for Bessie Kent when she becomes 
Bessie — Somebody-else. She is as fair as a lily and 
will look bewitching in it. Of course, noble, good- 
hearted Dick must know nothing about my feelings, 
nor of the elegant attire packed securely in the bot- 
tom of my trunk. He gave it out of the kindness of 
his heart, dear, generous Dick, but I can never wear 
it — never.” ' 

Mr. Mannering offered Donald a lucrative place in 
his establishment, but, having his eye on the legal 
profession, he preferred going back to his old haunts, 
in order to finish the course he had begun under the 
direction of Judge Gibbons. 

Miss Carrington’s Seminary, the school selected for 
Christine, was a short distance out of Chicago, and 
Donald saw her comfortably settled before beginning 
his new life in the city. 

Gerald Eadie was by no means well-pleased when 
he heard of Donald’s complete vindication, but when 
Mr. Thayer confronted, him with the particulars of 
the Academy episode, and reminded him of his 
protests concerning his former acquintance with the 
young man, he became furious and threatened to 
withdraw from the firm if the subject was ever 
referred to again. 

Mr. Thayer was not a man to submit quietly to 
the abuse which young Eadie heaped upon him, and 
before the altercation was over the breach between 
the two men had been so widened that an immediate 
dissolution of partnership followed. 

Eadie went into business upon his own response- 


168 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


bility, but he was not successful, and soon ran through 
the little fortune he had inherited from his Uncle. 

When Dick went back to work after the holidays 
he was surprised to find Mabel Drayton, the precise 
young lady whose acquaintance he had made during 
that first memorable journey, an inmate of Dr. Kent’s 
hospitable home. The intimacy begun on that dread- 
ful night between the two girls so strangely met had 
ripened into a warm friendship that promised to be 
very, agreeable to the Kent and Drayton families. 

For months after the accident Mabel had been a 
great sufferer, and she had came out of the furnace 
of affliction a better, truer, more consecrated woman. 
Dick would scarcely have known her, the refining 
process having wrought such wondrous changes, both 
in her appearance and manner of life. 





CHAPTEP XXV ; 

CHRISTINE'S NEW EXPERIENCE. 

»TINE slipped gracefully into her new 



position, and it was not long until she felt 


.quite at home among the stylish girls to 


which she had been introduced. The fact that she 
was in some way connected with Miss Carrington 
gained for her a certain amount of respect that she 
would not have received had she come simply as 
Chistine Jewell, of Egbert. Her devotion to her 
books was praiseworthy, and her correct deportment 
and recitations made her a favorite with the teachers 
as well as the envy of the young ladies. 

After the first few weeks her modest wardrobe 
did not trouble her. She always looked neat and 
tidy, and her dresses were well-fitting, although she 
had fashioned them herself. On the rare occasions 
that Miss Carrington indulged her pupils in select 
gatherings, or when there was a grand concert or 
fine lecture in the city, Donald’s present came in 
good turn, and the girls declared that Christine 
Jewell, in her everlasting cashmere, looked as well 
as they did in their fine silks and costly laces. 

One night when J udge Gibbons’ daughters, with a 
few aristocratic friends, were to spend the evening at 
the Seminary, Miss Carrington suggested that she 
might wear the bright silk that still lay unfolded in 


169 


170 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


the bottom of her trunk, but Christine burst into 
tears, and assured her that she could not wear that 
dress, 

“ Very well, child! If it would pain you to wear 
it I will not insist,” the lady answered, soothingly. 
“ It was only on Donald’s account that I mentioned 
it. You know he is a student in their father’s office,, 
and he might wish you to look remarkably well.” 

As Christine had not started at the opening of the 
term she occupied an apartment alone until after the 
middle of the session. When the girls came back 
after their week’s vacation Miss Carrington kept her 
eye on the new arrivals, hoping to find a suitable 
room-mate for Christine. Out of a score or more of 
new faces her quick intuition selected that of Helen 
Kent, and a whole life-time’s sweet friendship proved 
the wisdom of her choice. Though the girls had 
never met before, they were not strangers, having 
learned to love each Other through the medium of 
the boys. Though not as close a student as Christine* 
Helen delighted in the fine arts, and her cultured 
tastes had a softening influence upon the young girl’s 
matter-of-fact life; besides, her bright, cheery ways 
brought sunshine info the heart of the lonely girl, 
who had seen so little of the joyful side of life. 

There was an inwardness to this glad child’s sunny 
life, an inwardness from which all her outwardness 
emanated, and Christine was shrewd enough to guess 
that the secret spring of her contentment lay in her 
strong religious principles. The unseen love that per- 
vaded and enriched her existence only opened her 
heart more effectually to the reception of human love 
and sympathy. 

At first Christine pronounced her a perfect little 


CHRISTINE S NEW EXPERIENCE. 


171 


enthusiast, and though not believing in her peculiar 
way of expressing herself, she admired her consistency 
and longed to possess soms of her devotional spirit. 
She seemed so perfectly happy — so different from all 
the other Christians with whom she had associated — 
so different even from Dick, who had been her ideal 
Christian of late. Miss Carrington’s religion was of 
that shrinking type that lives more in deeds than 
words, while Dick, quietly bringing his Bible into 
every-day life, spoke only in the most reverent tones 
when naming the blessed name — Jesus. But this 
happy girl thought and spoke of G>d with all the 
loving fondness that she would bestow upon her 
father, and heaven was to her only a more beau- 
tiful home a little further on the way than the house 
that sheltered her dear earthly friends in the city. 

As the days and weeks went by Christine became 
more and more interested in her studies. So intense 
was her desire to excel that she scarcely allowed her- 
self time to write to Dick. Of course, an occasional 
note or card was indispensible, but the long, loving 
letters that she knew the dear brother craved were 
sacrificed to gratify her thirst for knowledge. 

But one April evening, when the Seminary was all 
aglow in honor of some distinguished guests, Miss 
Carrington knocked at Christine’s door and informed 
her that her Cousin Donald was in the parlor and 
wished to see her immediately. Something in the 
lady’s pale face warned her of approaching trouble, 
but with outward calmness the young girl followed 
her teacher down the broad stairs and into the bril- 
liantly lighted parlor, where Donald rose to receive 
her. 

“ Dick is very sick, Christine, and Aunt has dis- 


m 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME . 


patched for me to come home right away and bring 
you with me/’ he said, speaking rapidly, like one who 
had an unpleasant duty to perform and wished to dis- 
pose of it speedily. “ Make all possible haste, for the 
train is due in thirty minutes.” 

But Christine needed no urging, for white and 
shivering she hurried to her room, and with the 
assistance of Helen and Miss Carrington she was 
ready in much less time than Donald had specified. 

When settled on the train she turned to Donald 
with a request to see the telegram. 

“Dick is sinking rapidly. Come home immedi- 
ately and bring Christine,” wa3 what it said. 

“ Why did she not dispatch sooner,” she said, refer- 
ring to Aunt Pen. “ It must be something sudden, 
for I had a letter from Dick the first of the week, and 
he did not speak of being unwell.” 

“ He has not been strong for some time, and went 
home expressly to rest,” returned Donald. 

“ I know he has not been as robust as usual this 
spring, but I thought he would be all right when he 
would get away from business a few days.” 

Donald spoke encouragingly about the sick brother, 
but Christine’s conscience kept that unanswered letter 
plainly before her, and she could not rest. What 
were books or school to her in thi3 supreme hour? 

“We will reach home a little after midnight,” 
Donald had said, as the train left the station, but 
a broken rail detained them half an hour, and when 
they reached the j unction the train that was to have 
made connection with theirs had been gone just ten 
minutes. For the first time Christine’s courage for- 
sook her, and sitting down on the nearest bench she 
sobbed bitterly. 


. CHRISTINE' S NEW EXPERIENCE 173 

“ We may just as well go to a hotel and make 
ourselves as comfortable as possible,” Donald urged. 
“There will be no chance of getting off until day- 
break.” 

“Make ourselves comfortable and Dick dying!” 
Christine gasped. 

“We can do nothing but wait patiently, hopefully, 
Christine. If it were in my power to hasten the speed 
of the train I would spare neither time nor money to 
accomplish my end, but don’t you see how helpless 
that few minutes of unavoidable delay has made 
u*V” 

“Could you not hire a conveyance that would 
hurry us on a few hours earlier?” Christine inquired. 

“ The roads are in such a condition that even if I 
could persuade any one to venture out we could not 
reach Egbert until noon to-morrow. Rest easy, Chris- 
tine, and by eight o’clock to-morrow morning you will 
be set down in sight of home,” Donald urged, trying 
to speak cheerfully. 

“ But, Donald, I have been praying all night that 
we might reach home in time to see Dick living, and 
now to think that He has allowed us to miss the train 
by just ten minutes seems as though He d;d not want 
us to see him. Do you really think that He cares for 
us, or hears our prayers at all?” 

“ I think He does, Christine. Mother believed He 
listened to every cry of the heart,” replied Donald, 
hesitatingly. 

“Then why has He disappointed me so terribly?” 
she sobbed, 

“Really, Christine, I cannot tell,” he answered 
sadly, as he turned to gaze out upon the cold, starry 

night. 


174 


JH SEARCH OF A HOME. 


He was powerless to comfort this young girl in her 
sorrow, and more than ever before he felt the need of 
something that he did not possess. What could he 
say to Christine when his own soul was in such dark- 
ness? He had not noticed a motherly old woman in 
an old-fashioned bonnet and faded shawl who occu- 
pied a seat near his Cousin until she laid her hand 
on Christine’s shoulder, and said in the sweetest of 
womanly voices : 

" My dear child, I am sure that He both hears your 
prayers and cares for your sorrow, for I have tried 
Him many times and He never failed me yet.” 

“ But my brother is dying, and I was so anxious to 
see him once more, and God permitted the train to 
leave without us — after my prayer, too.” 

“Poor dear! you do not understand that with the 
good God there are no accidents. He knows the end 
from the beginning, and this ten minutes delay was 
part of His plan, and all for some wise purpose. I, 
too, am on my way to see a dying friend — an only 
son — and he is in a hospital among strangers. I am 
dreadful anxious to see him, for I have not laid eyes 
upon him for five years. You see he belonged to the 
regular army, and his time has just expired; but 
before he could reach home he was seized with a 
fever, and yesterday I got a dispatch to come if I 
wished to see him living. When our train was 
delayed last night I prayed that we might still be 
in time to catch the Central Express at the junc- 
tion, and then I begged the conductor to do his 
very best to make up for lost time, and he promised 
me that he would, but all to no purpose, for God 
ordered differently, and I know it must be all for 
the best. My son and your brother may be with 




CHRISTINE S NEW EXPERIENCE . 


175 


God before we reach the end of our journey, but if 
it is the will of the Lord, * Let Him do what seemeth 
Him good. ,,, 

Christine was crying softly now, and the poor, old 
woman nestled down close beside her. Donald could 
not hear a word she was saying, but he knew that 
she understood the power of that love which passeth 
understanding, and he was willing to leave her to 
settle Christine’s torturing questions. 

Under her soothing words Christine became quiet 
and composed, and when Donald again spoke of going 
to a hotel she offered no objections, but united her 
voice with his in persuading the old lady to accom- 
pany them. 

Christine was persuaded to lie down for an hour 
or two, but her heart was too heavy to allow her to 
sleep, and at breakfast neither Donald nor the good 
old mother could prevail on her to swallow a mouth- 
ful of food. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 

SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE. 

HEN they reached the station in the 
\A/ morning, they found Abram waiting with 
r r the carriage. 

“How is Dick?” asked Donald, as the old man 
came forward and relieved them of their baggage. 

“We think he’s a leetle better this mornin’. Least- 
ways he’s quieter, and more at himself.” 

“How long has he been sick ? ” inquired Christine. 

“Nigh onto a week. Fact is, he come home a fort- 
night ago all tuckeied out. He’s been a workin’ too 
hard, and now he’s got to pay for it. ’Taint right, it’s 
against natur’ for folks to take on more than theie 
able to get through with without injurin’ their health. 
And that’s jist what the young master’s been a-doin’.” 
Abram rambled on, while Donald arranged the robes 
around Christine. 

“Does the doctor think he will get well?” asked 
Christine anxiously. 

“Well, now, I don’t think he knows, Miss Chrissy. 
He comes up there three or four times a day; feels 
his pulse, shakes his head and looks wise. After th«t 
he sits down by the table and writes a heap of big 
words on a bit of paper, which he tells me to carry to 
the drug store and bring back the answer, which con- 
sists of a lot more medicine. He thinks he knows 


176 


SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE. 177 

a mighty sight, but my opinion is, he don’t know 
nothin’ about how it is a goin’ to end,” 

Abram’s loquacity was brought to a sudden end by 
the carriage stopping in front of the stately looking 
residence that had been the only home of which Chris- 
tine had any recollection. Though very much re- 
duced, Dick was conscious and seemed very glad to 
see them, but the doctor had forbidden them to talk 
to him ; hence, their stay in the room was very brief. 

For a fortnight afterwards Dick lay hovering be- 
tween life and death, and then a change took place, 
the crisis was passed in safety, and he came back to 
health and strength. 

That night when Christine lay so wide awake in the 
hotel at the little station where they had been delayed, 
she promised the dear Lord that if he would keep her 
brother alive until she could reach him in the morn- 
ing, that all her life should be devoted to his service. 

When she looked into the pale face of the suffering 
brother a few hours later, her heart went out in thanks- 
giving to the Great Being who had so graciously 
granted her request. Christine never did any thing 
by halves, and though it was hard for her to accept a 
religion that she had so often ridiculed, she determined 
to begin her new life at once, and more than that, she 
purposed that this new life should be a consistent one, 
and that her living should not be a stumbling block 
to others. 

Realizing her own helplessness, she went directly to 
the right source for strength— nor did she go in vain. 
Difficult as it was for her to keep back the quick, im- 
patient words that persisted in almost choking her, 
she was enabled to gain the victory that she so much 
desired. Dick’s cheerfulness and patient endurance 


178 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


of pain had much to do with encouraging her to per- 
severe in spite of the fiery trials that at times almost 
overwhelmed her. Except the outward change that 
was very marked, no one knew any thing of the in- 
ward struggle that was going on in the young girl’s 
heart, until by the power of the Spirit the battle had 
been fought and won, and she — Christine Jewell — had 
entered into her inheritance of that peace that passeth 
understanding. 

During these trying days, while Dick seemed to be 
slipping away from earth, a change, almost as great as 
that which had come to Christine, had taken place in 
Aunt Penelope. She was tender, almost motherly in 
her ministries around the sick bed, and in her dealings 
with Christine and Donald she showed only kindness 
and consideration. One evening, afcer Dick was able 
to be around again, Donald came into Aunt Pen’s 
room to spend an hour with her, the last hour that he 
had at his disposal, for early in the morning he ex- 
pected to go back to the city to resume his study. 
After they had been conversing freely for some time, a 
deep silence succeeded. They both seemed to be busy 
with their own thoughts, but at last the stillness was 
broken by Aunt Pen asking abruptly: 

“ Donald, do you think that my life has been wholly 
wasted ? Answer me truly now. I do not want the 
bitter truth to be sugar-coated in the least.” 

For a moment the young man hesitated, and then, 
looking her squarely in the eyes, he said : 

“ I do not, Aunt, you have kept a shelter for the 
orphans ot your kinsfolk, when all their other friends 
closed their doors against them.” 

“Thank you, I know you are sincere, and I am glad 
there is a spark of gratitude left in your heart for me. 


SHADO WS A ND SUNSHINE . 179 

But it is just as you said, I have kept a shelter— a 
shelter only, for it is not, and never has been a home. 

I have not brightened your lives as I might have done, 
and I am afraid that my hard, uncharitable religion 
has had much to do with driving you all away from 
your father’s God. 1 did not mean to be unjust or 
unkind, but my selfish, unchristian living has not 
tended to recommend to you the profession I should 
have adorned. The wonderful change that has taken 
place in Dick and Christine, has led me to examine 
Into the short-comings of my own life, and I am free 
to confess that I have been weighed in the balance 
iind found wanting. I have asked my Master to for- % 
£j ve me — for it should have been by my efforts that 
my children were gathered into the fold of Christ, by 
my living, instead of the influence of strangers, but 
it was not, and for weeks I have been praying that 
the sin would not be laid to my charge. I know that 
the All Merciful One has heard my petitions and that 
I am forgiven; and now, before you go away, let me 
hear you say that you forgive me too. Do not tell me 
that I have not spoiled your life, for I know I have. 
Tell me only that you forgive me.” 

“ Indeed I do, Aunt, and more, I wish to assure you 
that I have myself to blame for the views I entertain 
of the Christian religion. I have allowed myselt to 
frame my opinion more from the failings than' the 
victories of God’s professing people.” 

“ I pray God that you may yet be brought within 
his fold, and that in heaven you may meet the dear 
mother, who will require you at my hands. I have 
often wondered that she did not warn you against 
coming to me for even a shelter, for she knew that 
your father owed his love of wine to my unwise train- 


180 


IN SEARCH OF A HOME. 


ing. I ruined his life, and came near sacrificing Dick 
to my false ideas of hospitality, and it was surely the 
influence of your good mother that prevented you 
from falling into the same fatal snare. I am thankful 
that you had strength to resist the temptations that I 
placed in your way, for you were born to the inheri- 
tance of a drunkard’s child. Before you go away, I 
wish again to beg your forgiveness, and to tell you 
that you have always been a comfort to me, and that 
I am proud of the record you are making for yourself* 
You are an honor to the Bergh family. You can go 
now, I know you have some things to look after, and 
it is my bed-time.” 

“ Good-night, Aunt,” Donald said affectionately, as 
he took her hand. “You have done more for me by 
your confession to-night than you can realize. By 
your bravery, you have made me strong to do, and to 
bear. God bless you,” and then he did what he had 
never done before, he stooped and touched his lips to 
her forehead. 

This act of filial love brought the tears to the old 
woman’s eyes, and she pressed his hand warmly in 
token of the appreciation she felt. 

That was the last time he ever had an opportunity 
of expressing his affection, for in the morning when 
Christine went to wake her for breakfast she was 
dead. 

Calmly and peacefully, while sleeping, she had 
passed into the presence of that Master whose for- 
giveness she had been imploring during the last few 
weeks of her life. He had been graciously preparing 
her for what he had been preparing for her, and at 
last, her stormy, unhappy life had rest and peace in 
death. 


SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE . 


181 


What she had denied t^e children of her adoption 
in her life, she bestowed upon them by her death, for 
except a few legacies to dependents and kinsfolks, her 
whole estate was bequeathed to the three young people, 
whose lives she had robbed of much of the brightness 
belonging to youth. 

Donald never forgot that last hour in her company, 
and it was to that conversation more than any thing 
else in the world that he owed his final decision to 
surrender every thing he was, and every thing he pos- 
sessed, to Jesus. All these years he had been making 
this woman’s life an excuse for not accepting his 
mother’s religion, but after her confession, knowing 
how much strength it required for a pride like hers to 
be humbled in the dust, he felt that every obstacle 
had been taken out of his way, and in the sheltering 
love of Jesus he found just the rest and peace he 
longed to possess. With this new love, came a desire 
to labor for the Master, and with a portion of the 
means bequeathed him, he determined to finish his 
education, and instead of entering the profession of 
his choice, devote his life to telling over and over 
again the old, sweet story of Jesu3 and his love. 

* * * * * * * 

The snows of five winters and the flowers of as 
many summers have covered Aunt Pen’s grave since 
that spring morning when she was found cold and 
still upon her bed, but the good seed that she dropped 
just as she was going out of life has brought forth 
fruit in great abundance. That young scoffer who 
listened to her brave confession is now the pastor of a 
flourishing church, and by the blessing of God he has 
been the means of leadiug many to the dear Saviour 


182 


m SEARCH OF A HOME . 


lie so much loves. A year or more ago, Christine 
gave back that dainty dress of silk and lace into the 
keeping of Dick’s fair bride, Bessie Kent — now Bessie 
Jewell, and a few weeks later Dick had the pleasure 
of welcoming Phil Garde to the place by his sister’s 
side that only one could fill. 

This is not a love story, or I might tell you Mabel 
Drayton has entered into a contract to brighten the 
home of Dr. Louis Kent, and that when the June 
roses come again, there will be a quiet wedding in the 
little church, and Helen Kent will wear the orange 
blossoms, while Donald Bergh will place the marriage 
ring upon her finger. After all it is love that rules 
the world, and woman’s true sphere does not lie out- 
side of the art of home-making. “What God hath 
joined together, let no man put asunder.” 



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